


Stiles Stilinski and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day (Well Maybe It Wasn’t That Bad…)

by thegirlgrey



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: All The Tropes, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Stiles, Creeper Peter, Idiots in Love, M/M, Oblivious Stiles, POV Stiles, Protective Derek, Second in Command Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 14:53:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlgrey/pseuds/thegirlgrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey Derek? Are you absolutely sure that Beacon Hills isn’t sitting on a Hell Mouth?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stiles Stilinski and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day (Well Maybe It Wasn’t That Bad…)

For once, Stiles wants the supernatural world to throw one of its epic bitch fits at a reasonable time. Like not in the middle of a lacrosse game, or a homecoming dance, or at noon in lunch hour traffic on Main Street. That was a fantastic day. His dad barely accepted his story of practicing for a school play, that the Striga was just some guy in costume, when Scott came snarling in all wolfed out. The talk alone with his father about werewolves and hunters was bad. But the Sheriff finding out that Stiles had been involved, injured, had his life threatened multiple times, and _lied about_   _it_   _all?_ Way scarier than the Striga could ever hope to be. John had actually shot Derek in the foot (after being told that werewolves could heal from just about anything except wolfsbane poisoning or a straight up decapitation and/or body severing) because he tried to justify Stiles keeping him in the dark. For the most part, Derek only growled in pain and only spoke when spoken to. The grounding Stiles got afterward? Way worse than that. So yeah, fan-freaking-tastic day.

Was it too much to ask for a nice 10AM witch induced carnivorous plant charming? That disaster could have done with a little more daylight. His fingers pointedly remember all the nipping. He still side eyes his neighbor’s wisteria bush. But Stiles… well, he never gets what he wants. The supernatural is just a part of his life that he has accepted and deals with. Like Aunt Margie with her sloppy forehead kisses and really vibrant red lipstick that seems to ingrain itself into your skin no matter how hard you scrub. You deal with it even though you don’t like it because you have to. (For the record, Stiles likes his Aunt Margie well enough. She gives him cash for Christmas and lots of it being he’s her only nephew.)

And he kind of likes all the supernatural stuff. He likes the research: the deciphering, the compiling, the learning. He likes his friends, the pack, and he likes working with them for the most part. Jackson can still be a gigantic douchebag sometimes. Derek still reverts back into Scowly McBroodster when shit isn’t going well, but at least it’s only once in a blue moon (heh). His creeper tendencies sometimes flare back up especially when one of the pack is hurt, but otherwise he’s calmed down a lot. He fell into the role of Alpha and learned that it’s okay to use your words. He’s actually just as sarcastic as Stiles is which is awesome.

So yeah, Stiles maybe likes doing the whole werewolf-yoda bit, but fighting the big bads? Not so much. The wolves usually take care of it with a well thought out strategy provided by Lydia and himself, of course. Stiles always ends up in the middle, usually banged up and bruised, but not worse for wear. He can hold his own, but the less he lands in the hospital, the better. And yeah, Derek and him are friends. It took Stiles kneeing him in the balls to get his point across that throwing people into unforgiving and inanimate objects and the general route of physical violence isn’t the best way to get people (who are sort of your friends and maybe your packmate) to help you. He also took the opportunity to inform his Alpha, who was groaning into the carpet at the time, that breaking and entering into a teenagers’ room was a no go. Especially if said teenager was the sheriff’s underage son, or like any of the underage teenagers that make up his pack.

After that, he made sure to enter through doors after knocking and texted before coming over. Sure, Derek still stuck to glaring and looming and the occasional scowling. It was the three things he did the best. (Stiles even made him an award for them in Publisher when he needed a break from research one night. It didn’t go over that well with Derek when Stiles gave it to him, but no blood was shed, so win, win. A few weeks later, Stiles found it pinned to the fridge in the newly restored Hale House. He tried his hardest not to preen.) But he talked more. And he even listened and asked for advice now.

Somehow Derek and Stiles became friends. They get stuck together a lot. Mostly because Derek won’t let Stiles gallivant off on his own (even before the Sheriff found out their furry little secret). Derek also learned extremely fast to not let Stiles go with any of the other wolves because Stiles would talk them into letting him do whatever he wants. Which, apparently to Derek, means putting himself in danger and almost getting himself killed even if it was the right thing to do to save the day. Derek puts up with Stiles commentary too. He laughs quietly at his crazy spews now. He is even known to share a few of his own. He talks back, and it’s more than just  ** _Stiles_**  and  ** _Shut Up_**. It’s nice.

But it’s not nice whenever Derek comes slinking into his window at three in the morning on a Thursday night.

“Don’t care. Sleeping.”

“Stiles.”

Even half asleep, Stiles recognizes that something is wrong. Not only is the creeping through the window something Derek never does anymore, but it’s his voice. Derek’s voice is wrong. Stiles sits bolt upright in bed forcing a pillow to go sailing toward the door. Derek’s leaning against the window sill, panting quietly, eyes screwed shut as he holds a hand to one of several wounds on his arms to temper the flow of blood.

“What the fuck?!”

Stiles is already moving. He kicks away the blankets and only stumbles a little as they tangle around his ankles. He manages to flick on his desk lamp as he manhandles Derek into his desk chair. The wounds look like parenthesis except Stiles can see little glinting slivers of something producing from each of them. They look like little sickles. Stiles has to fight off a shiver.

“Derek, what the fuck happened?”

“Faeries.”

The Alpha leans forward in the chair, displaying the circles of wounds on his arms and shoulders even more, and tries to catch his breath.  A white hot tendril of panic winds itself around Stiles’ chest. Derek Fucking Hale doesn’t get winded by goddamn faeries. He took on the Alpha pack and maybe heaved for air for a minute or two before he was back to good old broody Derek Hale. But this? This was Scott levels of breathing, before he got the bite, when his asthma put him in the ER on more than one occasion. Stiles is halfway leaning over him when Derek tries to remove his hand from the wound on his wrist. Blood seeps up freely, and Derek clamps his hand back down. It spills through his fingers and onto the floor, but that is the least of Stiles' worries right now.

“Derek?”

“Teeth. Poison is stopping the healing.  _Hurts._ ”

Stiles gets what he has to do. Take all those teeth out. It says just how much he’s used to patching up all kinds of weird when he pulls a decked out first aid kit from under his bed. Derek lifts an eyebrow at the green and yellow monstrosity. Stiles shrugs and digs out the things he’ll need.

“They really shouldn’t leave ambulances unattended.”

Derek smirks, a small upturn of his lips, but Stiles can read it for what it’s worth. The smirk disappears as he shifts in his seat. The teeth shift as he moves. Blood starts to pool around the tiny little punctures. Stiles pulls out the rubber gloves. You never know if you’re susceptible to Faerie poison. The last thing they need is for Stiles to get knocked on his ass with the Alpha of Beacon Hills bleeding out in his desk chair.

“Sheriff knows you stole a medic kit?”

He motions toward the kit with his foot. Stiles snorts and pulls out the sterilized surgical tweezers.

“Temporarily misappropriated.”

They shouldn’t leave ambulances unattended. He’s teaching them about the errors of their ways, really. He looks over the wounds and takes a steadying breath. This is going to suck wherever he starts. He motions at Derek’s hand from where he’s squatting in front of him.

“I need you to put your hand above that wound and hold it tight, so I can get those teeth out.”

Derek grunts in acknowledgment and all but hisses as he removes his hand. Stiles wipes the blood away and is glad that it doesn’t come rushing back. Now he’s slightly worried that Derek may break his own arm from the amount of pressure he’s exerting. Stiles lifts his eyes from where he’s tugging a one inch long tooth (ew) out of Derek's arm to tell him to ease up, and he regrets it instantly. His stomach clenches at the pain in Derek’s face. His eyes are screwed shut, and he’s still panting. Stiles should have known with the way Derek’s only giving him monosyllabic answers. He should have known the second he came crawling through the window. But it’s three in the goddamn morning, and Stiles is still trying to cope with the fact that Faeries bite. He pulls out the teeth as fast and painless as possible talking as he works.

“I’m going out on a limb here, but I take it Tolkien had it really, really wrong?”

There’s a grunt over his head.

“One of these days I’m going to stop being surprised. Like with those witches? Totally not warted and crooked nosed, but  _definitely_ not Melissa Joan Hart levels of sugarpuff. Hell, even McGonagall would have deducted house points, man. And the Minotaur. He was really nice! He even gave me the recipe to his lemon drizzle pound cake…”

Stiles keeps talking, letting nonsense fall from his mouth to keep Derek distracted. It worked before. It always works. Soon there’s a small pile of teeth on his desk. Stiles watches as the last wound heals almost immediately once the teeth are removed. The milky white toxin is pushed out along with the bad blood. All that’s left is smooth unmarred skin surrounded by blood and grime. The healing factor is still completely cool and still completely vomit inducing at the same time. Stiles makes sure to slide the pile of cotton pads and teeth into the trashcan next to his desk. But he does place a few into a specimen bag he takes from the kit. Derek grunts out something that sounds like a question as Stiles tosses the gloves.

“We'll get them to Deaton. See if he can’t make an anti-venom just in case we might need it.”

“Good thinking.”

Stiles snorts.

“I am the King of Good Thinking. You though? Not even a Knight, not even a Page. I might push for lowly peasant though.”

Derek glares half heartedly. He still looks pale, but he’s getting his breath back. Stiles sags back against his desk and crosses his arms.

“So Faeries bite? I thought they were like ethereal beings and shit?”

“There are different kinds of Fae. Water Fae, air Fae, mountain Fae. Those were forest Fae. The live in trees, worship them.”

Stiles makes a go on motion with his hand. Derek seems to sag into the chair even more.

“ _You_  wanted to map out Hale territory. I knew that there were some forest Fae that had a nest just on the outskirts of the reserve. I knew where they were, and I wanted to see if they were still there. In case somebody-"

“Scott.”

Derek merely scrunches his eyebrows and makes no attempt to correct him. Because it would totally be Scott to go accidentally kicking their little nest all up. He has worse luck than Stiles when it comes to supernatural mishaps (read: getting bitten by an Alpha and turning into a werewolf).

“-disturbed them.”

“Because they bite?”

“Because they bite.”

Stiles sighs and rubs at his temple because really? He should have seen this coming. It has been a relatively quiet month afterall.

“I pissed them off. I don’t remember much about them. All I know is that the treaty my parents worked out with them isn’t good anymore because I'm the Alpha now. I have to honor the treaty as they did and make amends for my transgressions tonight.”

He catches on to what Derek is actively not saying.

“Except you don’t remember how they honored the treaty and you definitely don’t know how to make amends.”

He nods, face pinched tight in exhaustion and annoyance. Stiles runs a hand through his hair and sighs. He already knows what he’s going to do. It’s getting Derek to agree that’s always the problem. He pushes Derek and the chair away from his desk as he pulls his computer from its sleep state with a tap of his fingers. He motions towards his room at large.

“Get changed and get some sleep while I start compiling what we’ve got on forest Fae.”

Derek makes a jerky motion to stand, mouth already opening to protest. Stiles stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Dude, just get some sleep okay? I’m going to be awake for the rest of the night because seriously? Biting Faeries. I’ll research and wake you up in a few hours with what I find.”

They both know each other enough by now to read between the lines, to pick up the words that aren’t spoken. Stiles can read Derek’s silence and stares better than Scott’s by now. But he also knows that Derek still isn’t good with talking about anything emotional. So Stiles has learned to speak around it, to say what Derek needs to hear and not freak him out. This? This means _Stay, I need to know that you’re okay_. And Derek gets that. His eyes soften, and his shoulders slump in exhaustion. He nods and motions toward the bathroom across the hall. Stiles starts to dig around in the second to last drawer of his dresser. It’s the pack’s drawer. It houses a couple of shirts, a few pair of sweats, a hoodie or two that have managed to get left behind in either his room or his jeep when Stiles moonlights as a werewolf doctor/chauffeur. It was hilarious when his dad found Erica’s bra next to Jackson’s $200 boxer-briefs. He pulls out some old lacrosse shorts and a t-shirt and tosses them on the bed for when Derek gets back.

He’s so engrossed in the bestiary that he misses Derek coming back into his room. When he turns to check on him, the Alpha is already changed and tucked under the covers. He’s got both arms curled around a pillow, and his face smashed into it. Stiles fingers twitch toward his phone, but he bats the idea away. Derek doesn’t look as pale anymore, but he still looks exhausted. He looks calmer now, more peaceful, and somehow Derek always looks younger in sleep. Stiles allows himself another minute of staring before he turns back to his laptop and cracks his knuckles. He has work to do. 

* * *

Three hours later, Stiles reluctantly lays a hand on Derek’s shoulder and shakes. He snuffles in his sleep (and it is _not_ adorable) before he blinks awake. His voice is a little rough as he pulls himself up from the bed.

“What did you find?”

Stiles ignores the complete mess that is Derek’s hair. He’s a good friend like that. He dives into his research, idly tapping at the papers in his hand.

“They eat tree bark. You need sharp teeth for that. And they kind of regrow them like sharks.”

Derek makes a face and deadpans.

“Really? I wouldn’t have noticed.”

Stiles smirks but continues on.

“I did find some stuff about reparations…”

He flips through some papers and finds the section he’d scribbled in the margins of. It had talked about gifts of bond and contract. Or at least that’s what Peter’s translation software told him.

“Silver, the sparkly and shiny the better. And you have to offer something from your “ground” that belongs to the land. I’m guessing some pebbles from the creek in a pretty jar or like some honey from the organic store on Maple? It’s not from Hale property per say, but it’s from Beacon Hills so it’s from your territory. Should be okay.”

Derek looks over the information carefully before looking up to Stiles slowly. His eyebrows rise on his face when he notices the question and exclamation points at the end of paragraph that ends the section on making a treaty with the Fae.

“But?”

Stiles grimaces.

“But they might not accept it from you?”

Derek grits his teeth. Stiles can literally see his jaw working them together. He has to force himself not to ask if he can re-grow them like the Fae did or if it’s part of the whole healing process. He still has questions about the whole werewolf thing even if they are completely ridiculous sometimes. Stiles learned pretty fast that Derek would rather ask him a stupid question than to Google it and then ask him about the even more ridiculous answer. (Derek had laughed for 23 minutes straight when Stiles asked about knotting. Seriously, Boyd timed it.)

“What do you mean they won’t accept it from me? I’m the Alpha.”

He ignores the joke on the tip of his tongue at Derek’s favorite line and spins his chair a little. He fights off the yawn he feels coming when Derek narrows his eyes at him.

“ _Probably_  won’t accept it from you. There’s a thing in the bestiary. Peter didn’t have enough information on it. I think it might mean that a human has to deliver it to them, but I’m not sure. I need to go to the library. There are some books there that I know I saw something in.”

He stands and starts to pile things together. Derek catches his arm. His worried face is on. It’s kind of a scrunched version of his angry face. It would have prevented a lot of confrontation and passive aggressiveness if Stiles would have figured that out a year sooner in their friendship.

“Stiles.”

He gathers up the bagged bundle of teeth and shoves it into Derek’s hand, trying to scatter his concern away with a smile.

“Look, they gave you a deadline right? They want you to grovel and apologize. It feeds their immortal egos or something. I’ll go to the library. You go take these,” he shoves the hand crumpling the bundle of teeth towards Derek’s chest, “to Deaton to get an antitoxin or whatever he decides to give you. By the time you get back, I’ll have something solid to tell you.”

Sometimes Derek is a stubborn as Scott. This is one of those times. Derek doesn’t make any attempt to leave. Or move out of Stiles way. He squares his shoulders and stares Stiles down.

“Take Isaac with you.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. He isn’t going to get mauled in a library. He’s about to tell Derek this when he remembers that he was almost mauled by Jackson a few years back and then that one time that were-panther lady wanted to start shit, and she wrecked the entire nonfiction section... Derek quirks an eyebrow already knowing what Stiles is thinking.

“Jesus Derek, they’re forest Fae. They don’t leave the forest.”

Derek gives him the eyebrows of doom. Stiles can read that pinched face. That’s the Derek Hale face of Y _ou’re going to do as I say and like it_. Stiles sighs. He doesn’t have the time or energy to argue. Derek, the smirking bastard, knows that he's already won.

“Fine. I’ll pick him up on the way,but you don’t go anywhere near those tree hugging dicks until I say so.”

Derek snorts but finally moves out of Stiles' way.

* * *

Isaac is quite used to getting woken up at six in the morning with a hasty explanation, even before the whole werewolf thing. Stiles still spares him a bitch face for appearing on the curb of his foster family’s house bright eyed and fucking bushy tailed. There’s a dog joke floating around the back of his head, but he hasn’t had enough sleep to really grasp it. He waits until Isaac clips his seatbelt in place before pulling back onto the road. Derek had the forethought to fill him in on everything before Stiles got there.

“So you know how I had that part time job at the library last summer?”

Isaac nods.

“I might have forgotten to give them back their keys.”

Isaac stares at him with wide eyes.

“What? They never asked!”

Isaac looks like he’s caught between laughing and scolding him. Stiles never lets him have the chance. He guns it at the green light and books it down the road. They make it into the library without any problems. As Stiles predicted, Mrs. Burke still doesn’t remember to set the alarm. He finds the books he needs and starts to scan a dozen pages of text on the ancient Xerox. He’s about two pages away from being done when Isaac perks up. He shushes Stiles as he walks to the window without making a sound.

“What’s Caroline Smith doing here?”

 Stiles doesn’t skip a beat, just keeps copying the books, and wills the old dinosaur to move faster.

“She opens for Mrs. Burke on Tuesdays so she can go to dialysis. Go stall her!”

Isaac actually looks terrified. Stiles kicks him in the shin.

“GO! Ask her to adopt one of those puppies that Deaton’s trying to get homes for. Girls love puppies!”

He actually shoves Isaac out of the back door they entered through wasting precious time in the process. He can hear voices outside now, and he mutters a prayer for werewolf speed. He gathers up the papers and hastily slips the books back on the shelf and sprints out the back door locking it closed. He darts back to his jeep and has to wait five minutes for Isaac to join him. When he finally does slide into the passenger side, he has a grin on his face.

“What?”

He shrugs.

“She didn’t want a puppy, but she did want a date.”

Stiles feels his jaw fall slack. He was right. Girls do love puppies, even if they are of the werewolf variety. He punches Isaac’s shoulder gently.

“That’s my boy!”

Isaac blushes and laughs as they drive over to park in front of the opening hardware store. He shoves a handful of pages under the werewolf’s nose.

“I’m looking for anything that refers to offering of gifts, anything apology related, and why they might be aggressive toward other supes.”

Isaac, bless his little heart, nods seriously and dives right in. It’s why Stiles came around to the idea of being friends with Isaac. He did whatever he could to help his friends without the moaning and groaning that Scott did before finally helping. It saves Stiles serious amounts of time when he has willing help which, Stiles realizes, is probably why Derek told him to team up with Isaac. It’s half an hour before Isaac gets his attention.

“Hey, I think I found it.”

Isaac hands over the paper, and Stiles scans through it. And yeah, he was right, _again_. The Fae were so aggressive because Derek is immune to their magic (but not their venom). They can’t enthrall another magical being. And they like to have the upper hand. They also like humans because they love to trick and scheme and steal. They enjoy trapping them in their realm to become… something that sounds really, really close to a pet. Stiles has to suppress the shiver of repulsion that the vague description leaves him with.

“Well, Derek isn’t going to like this.”

He hits his speed dial and is rewarded with a terse answer.

“Got anything?”

Stiles shrugs it off as Derek wanting to get this whole apologizing thing over with and hey? He can’t blame him what with the teeth poisoning.

“So I was right about having to offer silver and a gift from your ground. But…”

He can hear Derek pace.

“Why is there always a but?”

Stiles smiles into the receiver.

“Because it makes everything more interesting.  _But_  you also need to bring a human with you. Like as collateral. They can’t trick you, so you’re a threat.”

“But they can bite me.”

Stiles rolls his eyes.

“But you have an awesome new antidote or whatever, so you’re an even bigger threat. So you need to bring a human, or they’ll get all snappy again. It’s just, I can’t find any evidence that says this type won’t actually try to steal the person you bring with you.”

Derek sighs heavily over the line, and Stiles ignores it.

“Soooo I was thinking ask Lydia? She can skip first period if she needs to, and if she’s immune to werewolves and witches…”

“She’ll probably be immune to faeries.”

Stiles nods and taps his fingers on the dash of the jeep.

“She’s our best option, and she can defend herself. And they don't know any of that.”

Stiles can practically feel the tension over the silent line. Even if Lydia can perform general spells, it doesn’t mean that Derek likes walking in semi-blind, not when it would put pack at risk. It's an admirable quality, really it is, but not when they are a deadline with things than can efficiently bench their Alpha. He needs to get Derek out of his own head.

“Hey, Derek? Are you absolutely sure that Beacon Hills isn’t sitting on a Hell Mouth?”

He hears the heavy sigh on the other end of a line, but it’s forced. Stiles can tell because he can also hear the quiet huff of a laugh that preceded it. Stiles grins into the phone as Derek answers.

“I’m positive, Stiles. I’ll text you when it’s handled.”

He hangs up and turns to Isaac. Who is looking at him with a funny expression. The same one he uses when Scott darts off after Allison. It’s a mixture of fond and exasperated. Stiles waves it off as early morning hunger pains.

“Starbucks?”

He could really use a triple shot macchiato. He also knows they have the red velvet cupcakes Isaac loves in stock right now. He starts the jeep with a grin as Isaac nods eagerly.

“Starbucks.”

They manage to pull into a parking spot nearby. They are not so lucky when they get inside and get stuck in the morning rush. Isaac cuts in front of few people (his god damn cheekbones are weapons of mass destruction) to get to the cupcakes faster, but he had ordered Stiles’ drink too and grabs it off the pickup counter, devouring his cupcake in the process. Stiles doesn't comment on his eating habits because it just got him a cut in line a free coffee. Stiles fingers are just wrapping around the cup when he feels someone slide up behind him. Fingers brush against the side of his neck and breath, hot and muggy, ghosts against his skin. He might have bitched and moaned about the grueling training sessions with Derek and Allison, but he would never regret them.

>>> 

It took Allison a year to deal with the aftermath of Gerard’s manipulation and her mother’s death. She isn’t over it. She will never truly be over it. Stiles knows from personal experience. Only he knows he had it easy. Gerard was… Hell, Peter was a boy scout compared to what Gerard did to Allison. He stripped her away piece by piece and put her back together they way he wanted. He was the reason she used her friends and classmates as pawns and was so willing to hurt the boy she loved.

Stiles could see it in the way that she shut down when she picked up a bow. He could see her turn into something a little colder, more calculated, a little more blank when she handled a knife with the skill of an assassin. He could feel it when she looked at him with dull eyes as she ran through another drill. But he didn’t dare try to force her to shake it off because that was her carefully constructed barrier. It’s what kept her safe. Separating her grief and anger kept her sane. It was the only thing that was keeping her together. But now, now she has the pack. Now that shell comes out more reluctantly and is quicker to hide. She’s not the same person that he first met, but she isn’t the same person that drove up Derek’s driveway all those months ago either.

It was a warm spring afternoon, and the pack was lounged around the porch waiting for dusk to run. Everyone stilled long moments before Allison's car rounded the last curve of the driveway, and she stepped foot into the yard. Stiles watched as Derek stepped off the porch and put himself in front of his pack and in front of the huntress. Stiles leaned a little closer to Scott. Even Jackson grasped Scott's shoulder in a brotherly way. They all watched with bated breath as Allison came to a stop directly in front of Derek. She held his eyes before turning her head up, offering her neck to the Alpha. Derek leaned down and placed his bared teeth against the delicate skin of her throat. He pulled away after a minute. Stiles could see the threat of tears in her eyes as she lowered her head. Derek caught her eyes with his lingering red ones.

“Welcome home.”

Then he was stepping back to let her walk forward, toward the pack,  _her_  pack. But Stiles was already at the stairs and pulling her into a tight hug, lifting her of the ground with the force of it.

“It is so freaking good to see you.”

She laughed but clutched at him as she started to cry. When they pulled away, Scott was there. Stiles could tell that he wanted nothing more than to haul her close and hold he,r but Allison was standing stiffly like she was afraid. He settled for cupping her cheek gently, a reminder that he was still there, still waiting, before backing off to let Lydia and Jackson in for a hug. Isaac even managed to run a hand up and down her arm in welcome. Danny wrapped her in a brotherly hug just with less lift action than Stiles’.

It wasn't until Erica started stalking toward her with Boyd following leisurely on her heels that Stiles maneuvered so that he could block their way to her if necessary. Jackson flanked him doing the same. Out of everyone, when the topic of Allison becoming pack came up, Erica had resisted the hardest, and Boyd agreed with her (although not as furiously). They eventually agreed when Stiles reminded them that Allison was just as hurt by her family as they were, and that she abandoned their pack just like they did. Stiles wasn’t so sure they had changed their minds at all. But Erica rolled her eyes at him and pulled Allison close for a hug that seemed too gentle to belong to Erica.

“If I could have, I would have been the one to kick his geriatric ass.”

Allison hugged Erica as tight as she could and squeezed at the hand Boyd wrapped around her fingers at Erica’s back. That night ended with a lot of pack bonding and questions and awkward moments, but it was good. It was a beginning that they all were wanting and waiting to happen. Eventually, they settled back into their patterns, and Allison fell into them with ease. But Derek and Allison’s relationship was still strained. Stiles could see it in the tight line of Derek’s shoulders and the biting anguish he caught swirling in Allison’s eyes when they thought no one was watching or listening. But the pack was always listening to each other, so Stiles came up with a plan.

The training started. Allison taught him everything she learned from the hunters. She taught him knives and bows and hunting. She refreshed his dad’s well ingrained lessons on guns and gun safety. Derek taught him stealth and speed, hand to hand combat, and evasive maneuverings. They wore him into the ground day after day. The funny thing that they all learned quickly though? When Stiles was too busy fighting for his life, his brain focused on survival, his body caught up. He never stumbled or tripped or had to still his hands from twitching.

Allison didn't let up on him until he could handle her knives almost better than her. She never let him walk away until he was as close to perfect as she could get him. Derek never let him get off the ground without spilling blood, either his or his Alpha’s. He never pulled his punches like the rest of the pack did. If he hit Stiles, he was getting hit with the full human force of the blows and gradually more of his Alpha fueled strength.

Yeah, he might have been pissed about it, but he never said anything. Because Stiles knew what they were doing. They were making sure he was safe. They were making sure that he could hold his own. They were guaranteeing that he could go toe to toe with someone just as physically strong as Derek or skilled as Allison and have a fighting chance. They were doing it together. They were talking to each other, planning out his practices, brainstorming ideas, and  _they were talking to each other_.

It was more than simple sentences and one word replies. It was more than carefully blanks faces and even emptier eyes. Stiles was their buffer, and he was happy to be because they needed to have this out. It was hurting them to keep everything in. It was hurting the pack. And if Stiles took a couple of bruises and a few dislocated fingers in the process of helping them heal? Well then that was what he would gladly pay.

It was a few months into their training when Stiles caught them sitting side by side on the porch watching the sun set in the forest. He leaned against the porch railing silently to watch.

“That was a smart move, the wrist thing. I wasn’t expecting it at all.”

Allison laughed, and it didn’t sound forced at all. Some of the worry in Stiles' gut eased at the sound. He totally knocked Derek on his ass during training and in record time too.

“It’s from one of the self defense classes I took. I figured if it worked on a rapist it would work on a werewolf.”

Derek chuckled, head shaking gently before he became serious again.

“He’s getting pretty good.”

She snorted.

“He’s great. A few more sessions, and he’ll be as ready as we can ever be.”

Derek’s head jerked to her when she used the word we. Stiles watched silently as Derek studied her carefully before dropping his head to stare at his lap.

“I’m glad you wanted to be a part of this pack.”

There was a lot left unsaid behind those words. They were weighted and heavy, but Allison had nodded gently.

“I couldn’t be part of  _that_ anymore. Not with everything that happened. But this, this is where I always wanted to be.”

Derek’s shoulders began to hunch, a sign that Stiles could clearly read. His hands clenching into fists was another.

“I would have accepted her. I would have helped her.”

Victoria, Stiles thought. Allison took a shaky breath and swallowed. Stiles knew Derek wouldn’t apologize for his actions. Not for saving Scott. Even if Scott wasn’t his pack then, he is now. But Stiles could still see the guilt eating away at him whenever Derek looked at Allison.

“I know.”

The huntress wiped angrily at her face and took a calming breath.

“Thank you, Derek, for accepting me.”

He shook his head softly, a fond, sad smile taking over his face.

“You won’t let us accept all of you though.”

Allison stared at him with wide eyes, whole body going stiff.

“The things I did to you and Scott, to Erica and Boyd. Derek, what Gerard did to me, my dad, Jesus what he did to Stiles... How could I ever ask any one of you to forgive me?”

Derek rested an arm across her shoulders and tugged her in closer.

“You’re pack now. We’re your family. You can stop apologizing. We’ve already forgiven you. Now, you need to work on forgiving yourself.”

Stiles could barely see Allison throwing herself into his solid embrace. Her loud wracking sobs covered his own quiet ones. It was the exact same thing he told Derek to get him to snap him out of his own guilt trip after they got Erica and Boyd back. He stepped back into the house with quiet feet and made the rest of the pack turn the volume on the movie up louder.

<<<

So yeah, Stiles will forever be grateful for his training. For bringing his pack back together and for the way he can completely immobilize the fucker who just tried to cop a feel in the middle of Starbucks. He looks down at the person he has flat on their back, knee to their throat and barely, barely, forces back a groan. He tries to ignore the feel of everyone staring at him. He tries his hardest not to think about how many of them will mention this little scene to his dad.

It’s surprisingly easy to do with hot coffee sinking into two layers of clothes. He shoves himself off of Peter and glares at him as he lets him up. He ignores the eyes on them and books it to his Jeep without sparing anyone a second glance. Isaac and Peter follow. Isaac is already on the phone with someone, hopefully Derek. Peter was supposed to call before he showed up. He’s still pack, but he’s a very unnerving member of the pack, one that no one likes, and more than half of them know how to kill for good.

“What the hell are you doing here, Peter?”

He leans all natural and eased against the side of the jeep as he grins at Stiles.

“Can’t an Uncle stop in to visit his favorite nephew and his pack?"

Stiles digs around in his trunk and pulls out the only shirt he can find that isn’t Underarmor or has holes in it. He pulls off his plaid over shirt that is thankfully not covered in coffee and tugs off his soaking t-shirt and undershirt. The tank he doesn’t care about but his Doctor Who shirt is a goner until he does laundry. He huffs out an annoyed breath as he uses some leftover water in his practice bag to dampen one of the holey shirts to clean the sticky coffee residue off of him.

He shivers a little in the cool morning air. He slips the soft grey tee over his head. It’s too small on him now and fits tight across his arms and chest. It’s barely long enough, just hitting the waist of his jeans, but it's going to have to do. He catches Peter staring at the pale skin that is exposed by the slight v of the neck. He glares at him as he tugs on the flannel and slams the trunk closed with more force than his baby deserves.

“No.”

Peter lowers his eyes and bows his head. It’s not much but enough. He’s reacting to Stiles authority. Derek had officially announced Stiles as his Second to the shock of the pack. But they got over it because well, it made sense. Stiles had the plans, and the research, and was the only person to handle the much needed mountain ash and other various things Deaton supplied them with (besides Lydia and Allison when they weren’t off being badasses in their own way). He was also the only one that Derek listened to (or at least he was back then), and the only one who could get him to acknowledge that his plans weren’t that great. But being Second doesn’t mean he can order Peter to leave. Only Derek can do that, and he won’t. Stiles knows he won’t. Peter’s the only real family he has left, the only blood. That’s why he didn’t kill him again. He didn’t have it in him to do it a second time.

Derek refused to kill him even after Stiles discovered that Peter was helping the Alphas. So they planned to outsmart him. It was down to one alpha, the female, Kali. She was smart and cunning. But Derek was bigger, stronger, and had a whole pack behind him now. He played his part well. He took all the right hits to make it seem like he was losing, like it was the perfect time for Peter to take him out. Peter wasn’t expecting Derek to catch him by the throat mid-air like his wounds were nothing more than gnat bites. Neither did the other alpha which gave Stiles enough time to inject her with wolfsbane. Derek was not happy about that aspect of the plan. He didn’t want Stiles to have any more blood on his hands. But Stiles had to be the one to do it. Allison couldn’t, not so soon after Gerard manipulating her to kill her friends and her boyfriend. And Stiles couldn’t let one of the wolves do it.

They wouldn’t be able to control the power. They wouldn’t be able to stay. A pack can’t have two Alphas. It only breeds violence. The Alpha pack proved that. So Stiles had to be the one to take her out, and Derek had to be the one to break Peter. He forced Peter to submit. He bit him again and forced his body to reaccept the bite and in turn accept him as his alpha. He calmed down considerably, but he still had a wicked sharp mind and slightly malicious tendencies. Now he was loyal to the pack and to Derek, but the pack never trusted him.

Derek let him leave to travel. He was an older wolf, knew how to act appropriately, and not draw attention to himself. And for the most part, he was forgotten until he pulled shit like this, appearing out of the blue. (…or with a new lore book for Stiles' birthday which he presented to Stiles by lounging on his bed, shirt half unbuttoned, and Barry White playing on his iHome. Derek was not happy about that visit, and neither was Stiles. He slept on the couch for a week).

Before Stiles can bitch Peter out for not telling them he was coming, and for bad touching him in line in front of a room full of people, his phone bleats out the Super Mario 1up tone. He pulls it out with frown at a text from Scott. Then he sees the time.

“Shit!”

He grabs at Isaac and starts to tug him toward the jeep swiftly texting Derek about Peter without really seeing. It’s what autocorrect was made for.

“We need to get to school ASAP. My dad doesn’t know about the Faeries or this visit of doom, and he’s going to notice the pointed lack of my very noticeable jeep when he drives by the school in less than 10 minutes!”

Stiles has left him a note saying that he left early to go to the library. Which isn’t exactly a lie as it is more of a very vague explanation. But the route his dad takes to work passes right by the school, and if Stiles’ jeep isn’t there, he’s dead. He reminds himself to bitch at Jackson again for parking in Harris’s spot so much that he had to make the principal give students assigned parking. Assigned parking that has Stiles noticeable Jeep parked nice and cozy right in front of the school with an unhindered line of sight to the road. Stiles nearly eats pavement as he trips on his own feet, but Peter manages to catch him and haul him up by the back of his shirt.

“Thanks. Don’t text me later, Peterphile!”

He doesn’t even bother looking over his shoulder before he’s turning over the engine and hauling ass to school. He does know where all the speed traps are and who’s patrolling where. There are very limited perks to being the Sheriff’s kid. It’s not until they’re both climbing out of the car, Stiles sighing in relief at the lack of freak out phone call from his dad, that Isaac stops him from walking toward the school.

“Stiles! Your shirt!”

He stops and looks down at his shirt only to frown. It’s fine, if a little too small. When he looks up at Isaac, his eyes have gone gold. He helps the werewolf divest him of his flannel over shirt because you do as the werewolf losing his shit says. His own eyes widen as Isaac pulls the fabric to show the four long tears through the fabric. Isaac turns him to makes sure he isn’t otherwise hurt. His t-shirt is fine. His flannel though…

“He must have done it when he stopped me from face planting.”

Isaac still doesn’t look pleased. Instead of flipping out, he calmly throws the destroyed shirt away and pulls out his phone. Stiles ignores him to grumble under his breath about undead assholes. He doesn’t even notice the curious looks he’s pulling from quite a few of his classmates. He’s too busy tripping through the front doors and trying to pull his shirt back down into a more comfortable fit. He doesn’t even realize he’s walking past a ladder that gets jostled by passing students until something slams into the ground and explodes all over his legs. He stares down at the turned over paint can in mild surprise.

He doesn’t even hear Danielle skitter down the ladder, banner they were fixing for homecoming ignored, and up to him. She’s moving him away from the mess and is apologizing a mile a minute. He knows she didn't do it on purpose. The girl has a heart of frigging gold. Everyone loves her. Harris even likes her. She's like the girl version of Danny. In fact, she’s the sassy black girl version of Danny. But her eyes are wide, and he can see the sheer panic and apology in them. He cuts off yet another sorry.  
  
"Yeah, I'm blaming gravity for this one. Newton and his damn laws of physics."  
  
She relaxes a little and darts over to help mop up the paint from the floor. Stiles just groans inwardly as his paint-wet pants start to cling to his legs and drip onto his sneakers in globs. His beautiful Adidas. Danny comes to his rescue, having witnessed the whole thing, by grabbing his shoulder and carefully steering him toward the bathroom. Isaac, well, he tries to hold back his laughter. He does. But he’s chuckling too much to really say anything. He does get out the words “Scott” and “shoes” before darting off cackling.  
  
“I have an extra pair of jeans in my locker.”  
  
Stiles ducks into a stall and carefully kicks off his shoes. Stiles mourns the loss of his Adidas. They’ve been with him since his foot size evened out. He pulls his ruined jeans off and leaves them in a heap in the corner. He reminds himself that it would be weird to hold a burial service for his clothes. Danny tosses the jeans over the door. Stiles grins even though the tan teen can’t see it.  
  
“Thanks man.”  
  
But he falls silent when he notices the style and quality of the jeans. They are so dark washed they almost look black, and they are those slim skinnies that the fashion mags are calling the “ _It jeans of the season_ ” (he seriously needs to stop spending his free time with Lydia), and they are some insane brand name that only Jackson can afford. _Shit_. Danny picks up on his silence.  
  
“I had a date tonight before Peter decided to be well, Peter.”  
  
Stiles pulls them on and tries to ignore the fact that he’s standing in the boy’s bathroom with just a thin layer of sock between his skin and tile.

“Sorry.”  
  
Danny shrugs or at least that’s what Stiles assumes he does.  
  
“I knew what I was getting into. I wanted to be a part of this. Not just for Jackson, but for me.”  
  
Stiles grins. He gets that. He wanted to be a part of Scott’s pack not only for Scott, but for himself. To see what’s coming at him. It was the same when they finally merged with Derek’s pack. He tugs at the material clinging to his thighs and resists the urge to make sure his ass isn't eating denim. He is used to wearing skinny jeans. He owns quite a few pairs. But these are fitted like a glove. Which brings Stiles’ thoughts to stop before they slam into full gear because they must fit like latex on Danny because he's about two sizes smaller than Danny is, not to mention taller and no. He’s going to stop thinking about Danny and latex pants. He still totally feels bad about Danny’s ruined date though. Especially after the way things went with Ethan. The guy literally used him, broke his heart, and bailed out of town a few days before the final showdown. Stiles is just about to step out of the stall to apologize when a pair of boots nearly brains him.

“Where the hell did you get those?”

Scott dangles the boots over the door, shaking them a little.

“The prop room. They’re from when the drama club did Pippen.”

Stiles eyes the boots and the stall door separating him from Scott incredulously. Since when did Pippen go all biker, and how the hell did Scott know about BHHS even having a drama club? He ignores the nagging in his brain that tells him to dig deeper. He’s had a crappy morning. He doesn’t need to deal with anything else. He slips on the shoes and groans. Because of course the laces are broken so he can’t tie them up all the way. The tongue of the boots flap over the laces and the sides fall out on themselves. He makes short knots in what little is left of the lace to keep them in place and is glad that it holds when he stands. He sighs but steps out of the stall. He claps Danny on the shoulder.  
  
“I am really sorry about your date man.”  
  
Danny shrugs as he finally gives Stiles a once over. He makes a cutoff, choking noise. Stiles turns a little to stare down at himself.

“What, do I look like more of a freak?”  
  
Danny says something under his breath that Stiles doesn't catch.

“You look more like a _twink_.”

Scott’s eyes grow huge, and he chokes on a laugh before turning and all but running out of the room ahead of them. Stiles stares at the spot his best friend just vacated.

“What?”

Danny ignores him and his indignation by grabbing his shoulder again and leading him away from the bank of stalls.

“Yeah, you look like a freak.”  
  
Stiles groans but rolls his neck, putting his determined face on.  
  
“Let’s get this over with.”  
  
He walks out of the bathroom with his head held high and a smile on his face. He is too busy ignoring everyone that he doesn't see Danny shaking his head and sighing or staring at his ass.

He hasn’t even made it to his desk yet in the few minutes left before first period before Jackson is all up in his personal space. He’s also sporting a shit eating grin. The asshole.

“Well, I know why you smell like paint and Danny, but why do I think you bathed in coffee this morning?”

Isaac huffs out an annoyed sound but plops down into his seat, phone buzzing in his hand. Scott’s nose twitches hard, and he’s leaning out of his seat so far he should be on the ground by now. Stupid werewolf balance.

“Better question is why the hell does he smell like Peter?”

It takes seconds, seconds for Boyd and Erica to come strolling in, like they belong in US history instead of the English IV class they are supposed to be in. Lydia comes in with an arm linked in Allison’s, smiling and eyes promising death. Stiles takes a minute to bury his face in his hands. He wishes the ground would swallow him whole. It doesn’t, but Greenberg’s binder falls off his desk, and his papers go everywhere. Some happens to land by Stiles’ feet, so he slips out of his desk to gather whatever is near him. He’s not avoiding the topic. He totally isn’t. He's helping out a teammate. He hands the stack of papers he’s collected back to Greenberg and gives him a smile before heading back to his desk. He catches Erica giving him a leering up and down. By now Stiles knows most of her looks. And this smile? This smile gets them into a lot of trouble. This smile was all Selina Kyle. Stiles is  too focused on trying to figure out what she’s up to that he doesn’t notice most of the room doing a double take too. He slides back into his desk and leans closer to Erica.

“What?”

She shakes her head. The smile disappears, but her eyes are still lit up, bright and mischievous.

“Nothing.”

She tunes back into Lydia’s quiet explanation about the fairies. So does Stiles because he really doesn’t have time to process all the possible things Erica is planning with that look.

“The Faeries were quite subdued by me. They even offered to make me their Queen if I was so inclined.”

That gets all the wolves, save Isaac, to pin him with questioning eyes of varying levels of intensity. Jackson is looking more like the revenge lizard by the second. Stiles tries to rush out a hasty explanation, but his phone is vibrating in his pocket. He distractedly reads the rapid three part text Derek sends him.

_Faeries are dealt with._

_Talking to Peter._

_Text you later._

“Okay, here’s the deal. Derek pissed off some Faeries. They got all chompy on his ass. I was up at three o’clock in the freaking morning pulling teeth out of his arms. Lydia went with him to make amends. It's handled. I spilled my coffee all over myself. Peter is back. No, we don’t know why. Derek’s getting all the info and will let me know what’s going on as soon as he can.”

He slides his eyes over to Isaac to confirm. He puts a little hard glint in his eyes that he hopes translates into not a word about Peter being a total creeper and bad touching him. Isaac nods and confirms his story. 

“Now can everyone just calm down? We can’t do anything right now until Derek gets the whole story from Peter. And we all know how much he loves talking in circles.”

The whole pack grudgingly agrees. They all know how Peter is. Lydia flips her hair, done with the conversation, and turns on her heel to head toward her first period. Allison gives him an encouraging smile before turning to catch up with her. Erica grabs Boyd and tugs him behind her. Stiles slumps down in his desk and fights the urge to faceplant into his textbook and groan.

* * *

Stiles gets pulled out in the middle of second period AP Chemistry and misses the rest of Harris’s lecture. He’s not really complaining about that but… He sees Erica, Isaac, and Danny waiting for him outside of the chemistry lab, waiting to see what Coach wanted with him.

“Finstock kept trying to get me to teach a special defense class to girls PE.”

Erica laughs at him and catches herself. She chokes it back and ducks her head as he frowns at her. Seriously? It’s not funny.

“I don’t know if he was trying to say I’m a girl or if I should be worried that he knows something about the girls needing to have self defense lessons. Either way I’m offended. On one hand, that’s really sexist because woman are like a million times stronger than men. They give birth to little tiny people after lugging them around for nine months. Calling me a girl is like a compliment. Besides I’m totally used to it after two years on the bench. On the other hand, how does Finstock know about shit going down before me? I need to figure out if there are any APB’s out for rapists or something…”

Stiles goes off mumbling with his phone out and fingers tapping away. He doesn’t see Danny halfway to the floor wheezing, or Isaac snorting as he laughs. Erica smiles at his back fondly before shaking her head and elbowing both boys so they won’t be late for class. 

At the end of third period, he gets sidelined because he has to avoid Coach again. Apparently running for your life really sharpens your evasive skills (not so much helpful when it comes to almost getting yourself locked in a janitor’s closet). So when he finally gets to the cafeteria, he finds that they ran out of curly fries and only have tater totes. He grabs a gravy bowl full, a serving of chicken strips, and a cup of pudding because he isn’t that hungry now that he’s been denied his curly fries. He settles down at his table shoving at Boyd’s massive bulk with his shoulder fondly. They all know better than to talk too much about pack business in the middle of the caf. They’ve learned from their mistakes okay? Now they have regular pack meetings (since Stiles threw down with Derek back when they were separate packs because he was tired of not getting all the information and going into shit half blind “ _Sharing is caring Derek_!”). So they talk about school and Harris being a dick, and if he nudges Boyd enough, he gets a few more tater tots in return for his pudding cup. He’s in the middle of a conversation with Erica when someone clears their throat behind him.

“Hey uh, Stiles. You going to that party at Adam’s house Friday?”

Stiles is only half turned to Greenberg. He feels like it's rude, so he turns his full attention to his teammate and gives him a warm smile.

“Yeah man, I was planning on it. It’ll be the last party before we graduate!”

Greenburg nods and shifts his feet. He looks a little red in the face. Like maybe he ran to the cafeteria. Hell, Stiles should have ran. Maybe then he would have gotten his freaking curly fries. He’s too busy thinking about the loss of his beloved ambrosia of the gods that he really doesn’t catch what Greenberg says next.

“I was thinking we should go together.”

Stiles grins and slaps him on the shoulder only partially getting the gist of his conversation and running with it.

“Of course dude. We’re all going together. Well except Scott. I think he’s got to work. But he’ll come later if it’s a lacrosse thing. Jackson’s picking up me and Isaac if you need to catch a ride. I can probably convince him.”

Greenberg doesn’t say anything else, and Stiles feels his phone buzz in his pocket. It’s Derek informing everyone to meet at his house as soon as possible after school. There’s a pack coming for a visit tonight. He tells the rest of the table in vague terms. He doesn’t see Danny steer a very put out looking Greenberg away from the table with a gentle hand, kind words of encouragement, and a stern warning.

“He’s not interested in anyone at school right now.”

By the time Danny gets back to the table, Stiles realizes that Greenberg’s gone.

“Hey, where’s Greenberg? I thought he wanted a ride to Adam’s party?”

The whole table goes quiet. Jackson looks like he’s constipated. Scott bangs his head on the table. Allison tries to hide her laugh by hiding behind Isaac. Stiles is about to ask what he’s missed but then Erica starts feeding Lydia some of her grapes. His train of thought goes way, way out the window. While he might not have a crush on Lydia anymore and he might love Erica like the sister he never wanted and he might be bisexual and might currently be more partial to the distinctly male members of society... this was two smoking hot girls feeding each other Greek emperor style with cleavage. Half the cafeteria was watching. He nudged Boyd to make sure he was looking only to get more tater tots dumped onto his hand. Stiles didn’t mind at all. 

* * *

“Seriously? My dad and your mom!?”

The whole house freezes. Kind of like how Stiles froze when he walked into his house after school to change his clothes only to find his dad and Melissa making out on his couch. He vaguely remembers giving his dad a quick thumbs up and a B _e safe_  before getting the hell out of there, change of clothes forgotten. He waves his hands in front of himself exuberantly. It seems like everyone in the room lets out a collective held breath. Scott grimaces and turns in his seat to face him. He sees Allison slip a hand into his and squeeze.    

“We didn't want to tell you because of how you'd react.”  
  
Stiles glares daggers at his best friend, and the werewolf flinches. Victory!  
  
“Bullshit. They didn't want to tell me because of how  _you_  reacted.”  
  
Derek snorts. That's all the answer he really needs. Of course Scott flipped out. That’s how Scott handles things. He overreacts, and then ten minutes later he over apologizes. Stiles sinks into one half of the love seat and rubs a hand across his hair. He sighs, all the shock and anger draining out of him and leaving him with a disbelieving smile.  
  
“I'm glad they are finally getting together.”  
  
“You knew?”

Stiles pins Scott with an incredulous stare.  
  
“Well, yeah dude. I schedule my dad's doctor appointments and, even if I didn't, there is the glaring fact that you only get a physical once a year, not once a month. It kind of screams I'm trying to hide something from you. Oh god! My dad got a physical from your mom. I need brain bleach!”

Stiles rubs at his eyes furiously while Scott groans as his own traitor of a brain conjures up that image. Erica cackles. Isaac’s voice cuts across the noise.  
  
“So you knew and didn’t say anything?”  
  
Stiles shrugs, still trying to get that image to die a painful death in his head.  
  
“Yeah, I knew. I just figured they'd tell me when they were ready. I'm seriously happy for them. They deserve someone to lean on, to support them, to love them like that you know? They're good for each other, good together. Besides they were so obvious. I'm surprised Scott figured it out this fast.”  
  
The whole room goes quiet and all eyes dart to Derek. He's watching Stiles with unreadable eyes. Stiles is too busy discovering the three Redbulls on the table to notice. He grabs one and holds the can to his chest lovingly. He mentioned needing one in class and didn’t think anyone heard. But of course they did. Pack always listens to one another. He beams at Jackson.  
  
"Dude, I could kiss you right now."  
  
The teen grins happily even if his face is distorted with faux disgust. A second later he scrunches his nose at the look his Alpha gives him. Stiles downs one can in record time and reaches for the next one but Lydia and Jackson grab them. Jackson downs his even faster than Stiles. The competitive asshole. But Stiles should have known better from his co-captain. Scott got benched because of his grades and since Stiles’ skills were uncovered and honed (thanks to Scott and a summer full of grueling werewolf enhanced lacrosse  ~~torture~~  practices) he got the open position. Lydia sips at hers demurely. He starts to complain, but Erica scolds him.  
  
"You don't need to be all twitchy tonight, Stiles. One can is more than enough for you even if you did skip your meds."  
  
She was one of the few people that understood his ADHD and how his meds worked for him. She'd spent just as much time as he did being put of different treatments and figuring out the right amount and how not fun the whole process could be (the side effects of some medicines royally suck regardless of ailment). She also knew that caffeine helped slow him down, helped calm his thoughts. Usually he used it with his Adderall as a sleep aid, but it works decently to keep him focused enough to get through the day if he ever forgets to take his normal dosage. He had tried to get his caffeine fix this morning. Erica smiles smugly at him. He throws the empty can at her. She catches it without even blinking. He sticks out his tongue. Stupid wolf senses. Derek motions toward Boyd.  
  
“Someone can go pick up your pills if you need then.”  
  
He shakes his head. It's not as bad as it was before. Taking them right now would only keep him from sleeping tonight too.  
  
“I'm good. But I’d feel better if we worked out a plan for tonight.”  
  
With that Peter steps into the room. Stiles swears the temperature drops four degrees from the frosty glares he receives. Lydia looks him dead in the eye and the unspoken  _go back to hell_  is definitely heard by everyone. Jackson’s glare is just as cold. Maybe it’s because he flashes a bit fang. Scott spares him a scathing look and so does Isaac because if Scott hates you then Isaac hates you on principle. Boyd watches him warily, and Erica doesn't even look. He hurt her pack so she won't acknowledge that he's a part of it. But that’s probably better for everyone. Because if he was on Erica’s shit list there wouldn’t be much left of him by now, skill and acquired wolf wisdom be damned. Danny offers him a quick wave. Peter doesn’t fully enter the room until Derek nods and lets him enter.

(Derek doesn’t like to let Peter be in a room alone with the pack. Stiles flat out refuses to let him be in a room alone with Lydia or Derek. Derek refuses to let Stiles be alone in a room with Peter at all, for  _any_  amount of time. One little accident, and Derek hovers when Peter and Stiles are anywhere near each other. Peter only got shot in the thigh. And it was one of Allison practice arrows. It wasn't even tipped… which is probably why it hurt more. But it was an honest to god accident. The minibow fell off of the kitchen table, and Stiles just so happened to pick it up when the trigger malfunctioned. Peter was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. The wound healed eventually.)  
  
Still, Peter is part of this pack, but his standing is precarious. Stiles reigns his own glare back in and sighs past his anger. Instead, he focuses on his visceral need to have a solid plan for tonight.  
  
“What do we know about this pack?”

Isaac juts his chin toward the dining room.

“That it’s bad enough to warrant redecorating. I really liked that table too.”

Stiles had noticed the doors to the room closed when he came in. A busted up dining room does not bode well for this. Derek usually has the control to wait until he gets outside to put a hurting on Peter. The Alpha next to him is tense and a little apologetic. He rebuilt the house to give his pack a safe place, to give Isaac a safe place if the paperwork finally goes through. Stiles knows that whatever is coming is not going to be pleasant.

“I stumbled upon a pack in Montana. I ran with them for the full moon. It wasn’t until I got in touch with friends in Oregon that it became apparent that I may have given them the wrong impression.”

Derek glares at him with red tinted eyes. Peter continues.

“I may have implied that we were open to… communication.”

Scott is leaning forward, a sour look on his face.

“Why do I get the feeling that they’re not coming here to talk?”

Lydia smoothes the edges of her skirt and crosses her ankles before she levels her icy stare at Peter.

“Because they aren’t.”

Stiles rubs a hand down his face, mind already churning out possibilities.

“Expansion? You told them we were willing to let them join our pack?”

Derek rumbles next to him.

“Not exactly.”

Peter has the wherewithal to actually look contrite.

“They are more interested in joining our pack to theirs more biologically.”

The living room is entirely silent for a heartbeat while everyone lets that sink in. Boyd, as usual, is taking everything in silently. Erica, as usual, isn’t.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You arranged a booty call!?”

Peter jerks his head away from her sharp outburst.

“I simply mentioned that we would be open to a relationship with their pack. I hadn’t realized that they followed more than one particular affliction. They smelled very strongly of pack, given the full moon, I wrote it off as excess… exuberance.”

Lydia cocks an eyebrow at him.

“You failed to realize that they were a polyfidelity pack. Honestly Peter, I would have expected a little more perception from you.”

Stiles has to bite his lip to keep from laughing. He really shouldn’t be laughing right now because there is a pack of werewolves heading their way in the hopes of getting it on with them in a possibly violent manner. But this is his life and nothing can ever be simple. He snorts into his fist just as Isaac lets out a bark of hysterical laughter. Boyd slugs Isaac in the shoulder as Derek glares at Stiles. He gets himself under control and manages a shrug.

“Come on, it’s a little bit funny. An entire pack is crossing four states to come get a little nookie, from us. I think that says something about our pack.”

He waggles his eyebrows and gets an exaggerated eye roll from Derek. He smacks at Derek's shoulder with the back of his hand.

“We’ve got a badass enough reputation that people want to have puppies with us!”

The whole pack groans at either the implication of his words or his dog jokes. Stiles thinks it’s probably the  _whole a pack is coming to get some_  because they’re used to his dog jokes by now. He dodges the Coke can that Scott tosses at him. He grins at Derek’s exasperated sigh.

“That’s part of the reason why it makes our situation worse.”

He looks weary and tense, and that settles Stiles down sharply. The reality of the situation sinks in all over again.

“We’re a well known pack again. We took out a kanima, Gerard Argent, and the Alpha pack all within a year of reestablishing ourselves. They don’t know that we weren’t a true pack back then, not the way we are now. We’ve got to tread lightly. They won’t like that they were lied to. They’ll be prepared for a fight. And from what Peter told me, they’ll be hoping for it.”

Peter paces a little in the open space between the large plasma TV mounted on the wall and the coffee table.

“Technically, I didn’t lie. I said they’d be welcome to visit and under normal circumstances they would. They just chose to read into it. Still, they will see it as some sort of underhanded slight against them. They are strictly traditional. Keeping to themselves, living deep within the mountains. The see strength as power. They are seven strong. Four bitten, three born. The Alpha is young, a year or two older than Derek but not as experienced.”

Isaac rubs a hand across his face.

“Yeah, yeah the Alphas aged everyone. What else?”

Peter grins at him and reaches out to pat him on the head. Isaac ducks away. Erica smacks at him when he dislodges her leg from it resting place on Boyd’s thigh. She turns her annoyance on Peter.

“How the hell did you even beat them here?”

Peter fiddles with the cuff of his shirt.

“Chartered a private jet.”

Erica rolls her eyes and flops further into Boyd.

“Of course.”

Scott shifts forward, eyes on Peter.

“So they’re probably coming on foot. So that means they’ll be here when?”

Peter makes a show of looking at his watch.

“Just after midnight, if my observation of them on the full moon is correct.”

Stiles really wants to bring up that his assessment of them was wrong, drastically wrong, but instead he lifts up the top of the coffee table to get to the storage compartment below. He pulls out a map of the state and a black and white aerial photo of the Hale property as taken from a helicopter (like he said, limited perks of being the Sheriff's kid). He spreads his hands over the ends of the map.

“What direction will they be coming from?”

Peter leans forward and gestures, pointing out the direction they’ll most likely take, and referring to the map of California to plot their supposed route of travel. Stiles makes quick note of the fact that Peter is keeping his distance, not crouching into his space or leaning over his shoulder like he normally does. It’s not a bad development, but it’s completely out of character for Peter. Stiles pushes it to the back of his mind to dissect later.

“They are very traditionalist in that regard. Why fly or drive when you can run? Because confined spaces and scents for long periods of time. Not pleasant. They’ll stay this course not only because it’s a direct route but because it has the greatest amount of forest for cover and shelter.”

Lydia moves forward resting a hand on Erica’s shoulder for balance to tap at the map.

“The probability of them coming from that direction is high, but it is not the only direction they may take. They are too many variables. We don’t have enough valid evidence. I could work out the top 3 areas of encounter. We can split up into groups and signal when they get near.”

Scott tugs the maps closer to him and points out the clearing a few hundred yards back from what Peter had deemed their contact point. It’s closer to the heart of their territory.

“It’s a great idea Lyds, but they don’t sound like they’d be super happy to be greeted like an infiltrating pack.”

He hastily tacks on a rushed explanation at Lydia’s defiant glare.

“Even if they are! We just, have to play into their hand a little. We need to stick together. Showing up separate doesn’t look good. If they’re planning on a fight, we don’t need to give them any more reason alright? We should meet them here. We’ll make it look like we’re patrolling. We’ll surprise them and have the advantage. They knew Peter was going to Oregon. They don’t think he’s back or that he doesn’t have a strong enough relationship with us to tell us. ”

Lydia counters his argument gesturing at the map again and listens as Isaac defends Scott’s idea. They  _are_ stronger together. Boyd offers another option that is quickly picked apart by Lydia, although kindly. They need this to be as far away from hunters or the general public as possible in case they don’t take no for an answer. Derek settles back and lets them talk out strategy. He’s gotten better at being the Alpha, more readily lets the pack decide than him dictate. Mostly though he lets them wear themselves out before making the final decision. The planning session is interrupted by Isaac sliding to his feet and Derek shifting on the sofa to pull out his wallet. He hands Isaac a couple of twenties as Stiles watches still half focused on arguing with Lydia about the best vantage point for their unavoidable meeting. The wiry teen grins at the confused look Stiles’ spares him.  
  
"Bacon, ham, pineapple, and extra cheese right?"  
  
Stiles grins up at him.  
  
"You are totally my favorite."  
  
Scott makes a face.  
  
"Hey!"  
  
Stiles sticks his tongue out at his best friend, and Derek knows that he has to intervene before they get out of hand.  
  
“Scott. Go help Isaac.”

The teen grumbles under his breath about  _knowing who Derek’s favorite was_. Stiles snorts. Of course Isaac is Derek’s favorite. It’s common sense to him. Isaac never caused the Alpha half the problems Erica or Boyd did, or Scott and Jackson for that matter. He learned to control himself on his second full moon. He knows what Derek wants him to do before he even asks (or now, rarely orders). Plus, he’s fast and ninja quiet. Like Derek levels of stealth. It’s terrifyingly awesome. He must have zoned off in his own head because a plate lands in front of his face with a still hot slice on it. Stiles takes it with a wide smile at Isaac.

“You are terrifyingly awesome.”

Isaac knits his brows together even as his lips twitch up into a matching grin.

“Thank you?”

Scott plops a hugs glass of ice cold milk in front of him eyebrows raised expectantly. Everyone knows that Stiles loves milk just as much, if not more, than curly fries. He can go through three gallons a week easy. Scott knows this, but Stiles can’t help the grin he gives his best friend or the happy smile he gets in return. Dude is too much of a giant puppy to be considered terrifying (except those times he tried to eat Stiles) but...

“You’re awesome too bro.”

Erica ruins the moment by pretending to gag on her pizza. Derek rolls his eyes and ignores them as Peter mutters something about “children” that gets the pizza box he was reaching for snagged away by Jackson while Lydia primly takes delicate bites from her paper plate. Stiles shakes his head but downs half his glass in one go. He pointedly ignores the way Scott is picking off all his ham and giving it to Allison with a dopey grin on his face. Instead he focuses on the way Isaac keeps stealing all the pepperoni from Boyd’s plate while he isn’t looking. One day his scavenger bird ways will end in bloodshed. You don’t mess with Boyd on two things: his food (especially his Doritos) and Erica. Between one thought and the next Stiles manages to tuck away four slices of his pizza.

Usually, he can eat the whole thing. That’s why he gets his own pizza, besides nobody else liking his preferred toppings. His high metabolism kept him constantly hungry and lean. Even the Adderall didn’t put much of a dent in it. Lacrosse and running for your life tends to help burn off energy too. He could out eat most of the wolves save Boyd and Derek. He knows he should eat the rest of the slice on his plate at least. He needs something to run on. He's so low on sleep he might as well have not gone to bed, he got to wear his caffeine instead of drink it, and he’s starting in on two days of withdrawal. Even if his dose is way lower than what he was taking when he was 16, he is still dependent on it. Even a few days of not getting it is enough for his body to start rolling out the withdrawal symptoms. The fact that he should be starving and isn’t is one of them. He’d only eaten a couple chicken strips and two helpings of tater tots for lunch. But he's nervous and just a little nauseous and tired and can’t stop shooting scathing looks at Peter for not only starting this mess but bringing it home with him.

He stares at the half eaten pizza on his plate and feels his stomach curl. A firm hand grips his knee and pushes his heel to the floor where it was bouncing out a fast rhythm, unnoticed by him. He shifts his eyes to Derek who is watching him quietly. Instead of saying anything, he lifts his hand and snags the half unfinished slice, biting into it as he turns back to what Peter is saying. It's not unusual for Stiles to share food. Not with Scott and definitely not with the werewolves. One summer Erica had taken one taste of her cherry rocket pop and decided that she'd like Stiles' lime one instead. Stiles just let her have it, even if she waited to trade it until it was melting, and Stiles had to lick like crazy to keep it from getting all over his hand or the freshly resurfaced porch. Coincidentally, that was also the exact moment that Derek nearly cut his hand off building the new porch swing. They had to paint it red because of the blood stains.

The memory makes Stiles glance at Erica. She’s sprawled out on Boyd’s lap where they sit on the floor in front of Lydia and Jackson. He smiles a little. It’s a protective stance, another layer of defense between Lydia and Peter. He glances quickly at Jackson. He’s still arguing, but there’s a resigned set to his shoulders. Isaac is studying the maps quietly from his seat at Danny’s feet while Scott listens to what Danny and Jackson are saying about defensible positions. Lydia is still talking with Allison about strategy. There’s a certain pout to her lips that tells Stiles she hasn’t thought up a better plan than what Scott had offered, and she wishes she would have thought of it first. It’s the look that tells him that they will argue for few more minutes until they decide what they have already all concluded to. So he rests his head back against the soft fabric of the sofa and just watches his pack.

“Nothing to add?”

Derek’s voice is light and conversational, pitch matching the voices around them, making sure not to draw attention to them. Stiles turns to him quietly and shrugs.

“That we should have let that witch put that curse on Peter so his nose would grow every time he lied?”

Derek laughs softly under his breath.

“Maybe for Christmas, if you’re good.”

Stiles shakes his head.

“Promises, promises.”

They both grin at each other before the sound of someone clearing their throat startles them. They turn to find Lydia tapping her fingers against her folded arms.

“I’m sorry. I thought we were planning to intercept an infiltrating pack.”

Stiles rubs at his neck while Derek huffs next to him. Stiles flips off Peter and his leering grin.

“We already know the plan.”

Lydia narrows his eyes at him, and Stiles holds the look. He gestures to the map.

“We’re going to go out on a pack frolic in the forest, accidentally meet up with them in the clearing, tell them thanks but no thanks, hopefully they understand no means no, if not…”

He makes a vague claw like gesture with his hands and flashes his teeth in a faux snarl.

“We can’t be armed.”

The room erupts in voices, but Stiles nods. That quiets them down enough to let Jackson explain.

“If we go in armed, it means they’re a threat. It means we want a fight. Besides if we are playing the “out on a pack frolic” angle, then having weapons makes us look weak.”

Stiles nods again pointing out the general area where the pack will be showing up for a little surprise visit. No matter how much he wishes he had a few bottles of wolfsbane or a handful of mountain ash with him, Jackson is right.

“He’s right. Having weapons in our own territory makes us look like we don’t have control over it. If they do keep coming like we think they are, it leads into the heart of our turf. It’ll look really bad if we have anything on us. If we’re the put together pack that we want to look like,  _that we are_ , we can’t.”

“They’ll expect Allison to be carrying.”

Stiles grins at Boyd with his fingers steepled under his chin and his mind turning over a mile a minute. She might have been a turncoat, but werewolves never seem to forget that she was once a hunter. They expect her to still act like one. Derek nods at Boyd.

“Use it to our advantage. She can be armed.”

“Danny and Stiles should carry.”

Stiles darts a look to Jackson. His eyes flash blue for a second. Stiles shifts his eyes to Danny who either looks a little shocked at carrying a weapon at all or is shocked at Jackson being so demanding to his Alpha and his Second in command. He can’t tell. Danny is still new to the pack and hasn’t learned every aspect of it. Unlike everyone else, Danny isn’t getting a crash course of learning as he goes. They are all teaching him, and he has time to make mistakes. He has noticed that Jackson has blue eye when he goes wolf, not gold like everyone else, or red like Derek’s. He doesn’t understand why that makes a difference yet, but Stiles does. He did the second he saw them. Blue eyes in a wolf meant one thing: a greater chance of becoming Alpha if Derek ever met his demise naturally or by anything other than a werewolf. 

Jackson has natural skill as a leader. He was Captain of the swim team at 15. He was the Captain and then Co-captain of the Lacrosse team since 16. He also excels at being a werewolf (after the whole Kanima thing that is). Stiles hated to admit it because he’d love to see Jackson fall on his ass at least once. But he was good at it. He messed up every once and awhile, but both Derek and Stiles could see the potential to be an Alpha. He had all the necessary skills even if he still reverted into a douche sometimes. It showed how much he wasn’t ready for it. He never fought against Derek’s decisions, but he let his mind be known. He only used his status when he wanted his way. Stiles flicks his eyes to Derek, watching the older man stare down the map on the coffee table in front of him. This is one of those times. Derek can sense Stiles’ eyes on him and looks up. He can tell that Derek understands exactly what he’s thinking. Jackson is wary about his human packmates being so close to another all wolf pack. Lydia has some magic to protect her now, but Stiles can clearly remember what happened when the Alphas’ rolled into town. Still to this day, Stiles can remember the sound of Lydia’s arm breaking in one of their grasps' with startling clarity.

“They’ll smell whatever they’re carrying.”

Derek shakes his head at Erica, eyes never leaving Stiles as he speaks. A smile lifts the corner of his mouth suddenly.

“That’s true, but nobody can ever be prepared to meet Stiles.”

Stiles outright grins at him. If there is one thing Stiles is, its’ that he _isn’t_ magic, at all. He’s desperately human. And Deaton, being the super secret wizard ninja to wolves that he is, gave him three specially made knives. There were forged from carbonized mountain ash blessed by some witch doctor. They were sharper than any diamond tipped blade. They were also coated in a wolfsbane solution that never seems to fade or get weaker. But that’s not what makes them deadly. It’s Stiles’ will. The wolfsbane keeps whatever wound inflicted by the knife open, keeps it from healing, and keeps the mountain ash (that magically transfers from the blade to the wound that Stiles doesn’t understand at all but doesn’t question, not looking gift horses in the mouth and all) from being forced out. That connection ties the victim to Stiles and his will.

It’s a good weapon to have, but you have to get extremely close to use them. Luckily werewolves always seem to underestimate Stiles because he’s just a human. Derek knows that Stiles is fast and smart and sneaky as hell. If Stiles doesn’t want them to know he’s carrying, then he wills them not to know. ...and when he does want them to know, well, then it’s a little too late by that point. It’s a neat property of the mountain ash, how it reacts to a person’s will. And Stiles… Deaton says he’s never met someone as strong willed as Stiles. It won’t be hard to think their weapons into non existence to the other pack. He keeps the smallest of the knives with him at all times, keeping the long, large hunting knife to use when another big bad runs into town. He gave the medium size knife, one that looks mediocre and exactly like a standard issue tactical knife the SWAT guys use, to his dad to carry. Just as back up to the wolfsbane bullets he’s forced his dad to start carrying.

Stiles likes insurance policies. He especially likes it when Derek approves of his underhanded insurance policies. They’ve both lost too many people they care about to give a shit about their honor. He checks his watch and straightens his shoulders. They have an hour and a half to get where the need to be, give or take a few minutes. He stands and stretches only to dart forward to catch the half full box of pizza Derek nearly drops.

“You alright?”

Clumsiness is his thing, not Derek’s. Derek is only clumsy when he’s wounded. Then it’s because he’s usually lost too much blood to move or has a vital organ trying to escape his body so that takes precedence over not bumping into and breaking things. Derek shoves the box into Scott’s hands with a frown as Stiles tugs down his tshirt from where it’s ridden up. Stiles eyes Derek for another minute before he mutters that he’s fine. Stiles watches him carefully as he helps Erica pick up the glasses. He doesn’t see him falter again. He doesn’t think it’s just the other pack coming that’s throwing him off. He really wants to ask him but Erica is suddenly right there.

“Stiles, you should really get a jacket.”

She’s grinning just a little too widely for it to be a simple concern about his well being. Stiles narrows his eyes at her behavior but steps around her to head toward the stairs. He thinks he left a hoodie in the room that he claimed as his. He doesn’t even make it to the doorway before Derek is holding out his leather jacket. Stiles eyes him and Erica again but takes the jacket and slips it on. Mostly because it is soft as butter and ridiculously warm. He gives Derek a quick thanks and zips it up. It’s a little loose in the shoulders, Derek is broader than him, but Stiles is a little taller now so it makes up for the difference. He smiles at Derek, only to be interrupted by Lydia’s sigh.

“Let’s go. We have a pack to run off.”

The pack quickly follows her out the door because while Derek is the Alpha, nobody ever wants to be on Lydia’s bad side.  

* * *

The walk through the woods seems longer and darker than it usually is with the press of a threat over their heads. Isaac distracts them by zipping in and out of the trees, tagging Scott, and ducking away when he tries to tag him back. He also keeps stopping to score H’s into trees. Derek ignores him, but Stiles can see the little smile lifting at his lips. Stiles keeps their minds occupied by humming every song he can think of that relates to wolves. Surprisingly enough Derek’s the one that guesses the majority of them correctly. By the time they reach the clearing they are all humming Sam the Sham and the Pharaoh’s  _Little Red Riding Hood_. Derek is standing in front of everyone, facing directly northeast, head tilted. Stiles can tell the second he hears the approaching pack because his shoulders go rigid. Stiles steps up next to him and cracks his neck. The whole packs quiets and starts to move, assuming their stances. By the time the other pack picks their way to the clearing, loud and obvious, everyone is in place and waiting. The blonde leading the group grins at their posturing but stops a few feet before them with her pack at her heels. They fan out around her in a loose semi circle. Stiles can tell that they have more discipline than they do, but Hale pack has more experience with people and other packs, other  _threats_.

“Now this isn’t how you greet guests, is it?”

The forest remains dead silent. She isn’t following any kind of tradition here. They’re showing up in another pack's territory without the Alpha’s permission. She’s talking to the whole pack without even addressing or acknowledging the Alpha first. If Stiles didn’t know any better, he’d think they are a young pack who doesn’t know anything, and they would be easy to take down. But if they've learned anything, it’s that looks can be deceiving. Peter was right. They came here hoping for a fight. Stiles keeps himself in front of the pack, at Derek’s left, a half step behind him. They have to play this right.

“Where’s that famous Hale courtesy?”

Peter looks like he wants to open his mouth. Stiles sends a heated glare his way. He slinks back into an oak tree crossing his arms almost petulantly. Stiles has to fight not to roll his eyes at him. That’s not the image they want to come across here. Derek cocks an eyebrow at the other Alpha.

“You’ve come into our territory unannounced. Our courtesy ends at not killing you.”

The grin she gives Derek is all teeth.

“Peter invited us.”

Stiles raises his chin. He forces himself to not tense up under the blonde Alpha’s intense gaze.

“Peter doesn’t speak for his Alpha.”

She tilts her head and curls her lips up into a curious smile. It’s kind of even more terrifying than her polite smile.

“And you do?”

He squares his shoulders and meets her gaze head on.

“Yes.”

Out of everything he’s expecting, her laughter isn’t one of them. It rings out in the clearing like a shot. Stiles catches Derek’s scowl out of the corner of his eye before focusing back on the Alpha and the pack in front of them. Nobody has made a move since she started monologuing. She’s tough and even if she sleeps with her pack they know better than to undermine her. If they really wanted to start anything, it would be big losses on both sides.

“You’ve got quite the pack, even with the humans.”

Derek growls low under his breath, a warning. She tilts her head to the side and sniffs, opening eyes that are tinged with the weirdest shade of wolf red that Stiles has ever seen. The orange-red of them are locked onto Isaac.

“So very young and unbound.”

She points a clawed finger over Stiles’ shoulder, where he knows Isaac is a few feet behind him to the right.

“I’m very tempted to share my pack with yours if you’d let me have the curly haired one first.”

Stiles has a very vindictive protective streak when it comes to the people he cares about. He’s ferocious when somebody threatens his family, but with Isaac it’s amped up to 11. He's been fucker over his whole life by the very person that was supposed to have taken care of him in the first place and then by the Alpha pack. And how this lady is leering at Isaac is hitting all his instincts with a baseball bat. He’s pulling his knife a half a second before he’s even realized he’s moved.

“Touch a hair on his head, and I will put you down.”  
  
He grips his knife in a tight fist with his body held in the same stance Derek taught him and Allison forced him to learn until it came as easily as breathing, as easily manifested as a memory. The Alpha cocks an eyebrow at his defensive stance.  
  
“That's a lot of big talk for such a pretty little human.”  
  
A low rumble of growls rise in the quiet of the night at his back, but it’s Lydia that speaks up with a bitterness in her voice. She was the one known as the pretty little human in Hale pack. Well, her and Danny.  
  
“He’s not just any pretty little human. He’s our  _Second_. And that's not a regular blade. One nick and you'd be on your back until he  _wills_  you to move.”  
  
Peter takes a step forward with his hands raised in a placating gesture.  
  
“Now, now I don't think there's a need for viole-“  
  
Stiles twists so fast that the betas from the other pack rear back a little in shock. His knife cuts clean through the leather of the jacket, but it barely even breaks the skin. The unwelcomed pack watches in disbelief and some awe as Peter freezes instantly. The half snarl dying in his throat as Stiles inflicts his wrought iron will over him. Stiles’ eyes are still on the Alpha female, the one interested in Isaac, throughout the whole ordeal. He’s caught her stunned reaction, and he latches onto it. He speaks to Peter, never breaking his gaze.  
  
“Sit.”  
  
Peter grudgingly sinks to the ground, eyes furious. Stiles grins knowing the look he is getting without actually seeing it. He can practically feel the heat of it on the side of his face.  
  
“Stay.”  
  
Peter can’t even growl. All he can do is obey Stiles’ commands. Stiles’ grin widens at the shocked look of the invading pack in front of them.  
  
“Good boy.”  
  
Derek doesn’t smile or laugh like the first time he did it to Boyd in practice. He has a hard expression on his face. But for a second Stiles can see the amusement in his eyes, just for him to see, before that’s swept under a neutral mask too.  
  
“That's enough, Stiles.”  
  
He wants to protest but knows he can't. Questioning his Alpha right now could end badly for all of them especially since he's the one that lashed out first. So he lets his grin fall away as he pulls himself back to his full height, twirls the knife just because he can, before slipping it back into the wrist holder secured under the jacket. The Alpha has a delighted gleam in her eyes that unsettles Stiles a little.

“Cocky. I like that in a human.”

She rakes her eyes up and down his body appreciatively. He barely refrains from squirming.

“I’d very much enjoy breaking you. I bet you bleed prettily.”

He lifts his chin and bares his teeth.

“Trust me lady. I won’t be the only one that would be bleeding.”

She grins, all sharp fanged teeth.

“Care to find out?”

Stiles stalks forward, all thought of decorum gone, only to have Derek throw an arm around his shoulders. He rest one palm flat against the middle of his sternum to pull him flush against his body. His Alpha’s growl rumbles right into Stiles' chest. He feels like his heart is rattling with the force of it. Once upon a time, it would have terrified him to hear. But he knows, down to the marrow in his bones, that Derek would never hurt him. He knows this warning isn’t meant for him. If anything it grounds him, helps calm him. Derek is just as pissed as he is.

“Threaten what's mine again. Give me another reason to rip your throat out.”  
  
She opens her mouth to speak, no doubt something cutting and spiteful, but Stiles cuts her off with eyes glinting maliciously as he strains against Derek’s hold enough to lean forward. He isn’t worried about the claws he knows are resting over his heart.

“You want to think about what you say next very carefully.”  
  
He tilts his head to the rest of the wolves. Boyd's claws are out and quite noticeable over the bulges of his biceps. Erica is next to him grinning with a mouth full of sharp fangs. Her eyes are filled with joyful anticipation about the fight. Allison has a mini bow at the ready resting on her hip that was hidden in her jacket. Scott is a few feet ahead of her and off to the side. He isn't wolfed out but his eyes are quickly darting to the other wolves as he tries to feel them out and get a read on them. Jackson is quietly scouting the area, preparing for a fight, all the while looking completely bored. To his immediate left Isaac is leaning against a tree next to Danny. Isaac’s eyes are golden, but otherwise he remains calm. Danny is picking at his nails with Stiles’ blade.

It’s a bluff. Danny doesn’t have much training, being the newest member of the pack, and they want to keep the other pack in the dark about it. It seems to be working. Lydia, who is at Jackson’s right, is glaring at them like they just ruined her favorite suede Gucci riding boots. Lesser beings have turned tail and run at that look. Hell, the faeries were terrified of her. Derek said they took one look at her, apologized, accepted the offering, and said that they would honor the truce as long as it would please Lydia to have them in Hale territory. Her fingertips are also sparking green. She’s ready to call on the earth if she has too. Magic is so cool. Even Peter is using his eyes to convey his death threat (even if it is partially geared toward Stiles).

Derek’s voice is quiet but still holds the command of an Alpha.

“Stiles.”

He half expects Derek to say get out of the way. Or tell him not to get his jacket bloody but nothing else comes out. He wracks his brains for a second trying to think of what Derek is trying to tell him. A light goes off in his head.  
  
“Whoops.”

He grins maniacally at the intruding pack.

“Peter.”  
  
The wolf snaps to his feet so quickly the Alpha flinches. It’s little, minute, but it's there. She watches warily as Peter rolls his neck and spares a dirty look at Stiles before he smoothes out his leather coat. In that instant her eyes dart back to the human being held back by his Alpha. Stiles knows what she’s thinking. She’s realizing that the human has deigned to release the wolf as an afterthought. The human boy, the human second, doesn’t think that his pack needs another wolf in this battle. He doesn’t need a mature, born werewolf in this fight. And that he has enough control on whatever magic he has to submit him completely all while standing on his own. She’s realizing that there’s a reason why Hale Pack has a reputation. Stiles grins at her. Because he knows she just realized she won't win this fight. Derek must notice it too because he growls again, long and low. The Alpha shifts down to a knee. Her pack follows without hesitation.

“I believe there’s been a mistake on my part. When I talked to your beta, I thought we were under the same impression. I realize that we aren’t. I apologize for the intrusion Alpha Hale. I was wrong to accept an invitation from a member of your pack without seeking your permission first.”

Derek steps around Stiles to tower over her. He lifts her up with a single claw against the underside of her jaw. Stiles blocks out the memory of Peter doing that to him and focuses on the other wolves. Their faces are still lowered, but their eyes are watching.

“If you ever enter my territory without my permission again, there won’t be anything left of your pack.”

Instead of nodding, she tilts her head back to expose her neck. Derek glares at the pack behind her and waits until they mimic their Alpha before he steps back. She rises and steels her shoulders again like her submitting to another Alpha never happened. She meets Stiles eyes as her pack rises around her. She fucking grins. Just once, once, Stiles wants to meet another Alpha that isn’t a dick that likes power plays and manipulation.

“If I didn’t see it firsthand, I still wouldn’t believe the stories were true about Hale pack especially concerning their Second.”

Stiles slips the knife back into the holder and lifts one shoulder.

“You know what they say about gossip. It’s not what they say about you, it’s what they whisper.”

She smiles a little, still pleased by his defiance. She still has a hungry look to her eyes. It is way too close to big bad wolf than Stiles cares for. He can practically hear her licking her lips.

“Well, then that makes you the king of whispers.”

At the mention of king her eyes start to go a little less brown and a little more rust red. He can feel Derek bristle next to him. He hooks an elbow over his shoulder and grins as he turns to his Alpha.

“Dude, I am the Master of Whispers! Does that make you the Father of Wolves?”

Just like that the situation is defused. Isaac snorts out a laugh, Lydia mutters something he is sure is very hurtful under her breath, and Derek rolls his eyes so hard the other Alpha looks surprised they don’t fall out of his head. Two of her pack outright chuckle at the reference. Another one of them is staring at Stiles with a confused head tilt. Stiles jerks his chin toward him.

“You alright there teen wolf?”

Scott fucking loses his shit behind them. The stress of everything has finally got to him with nervous laughter. Stiles can’t stop grinning because he knows Derek is absolutely trying to murder them all with his mind. The kid is younger than the rest, definitely a born wolf, definitely the Alpha’s brother (if the way her completely pissed and exasperated growl is). He does wait until his Alpha nods to speak though.

“It’s just, I swear I’ve seen you before somewhere.”

Stiles laughs and pulls away from Derek to point back at Scott with the  _I have a face only his mother could love_ joke on the tip of his tongue when suddenly the kid’s face lights up with recognition. He literally bounces up to him eyes bright with excitement. Enough misplaced excitement to make Stiles wary. Derek sidles up next to him silently.

“Holy Shit! You’re the guy from Youtube!”

Stiles closes his mouth and blinks. He spares Derek a confused glance.

“Uh, I think you’ve got me confused with someone else.”

The boy shakes his head and pulls out his phone much to the annoyance of his Alpha (if her growling out his name, Camden, in warning means anything).

“No, it’s totally you.”

Stiles looks to Derek. He just quirks an eyebrow. The whole pack hovers closer to watch the video Camden loads.

It’s titled “Starbucks Smackdown.”

It shows Stiles twisting to grab the hand that grasped his neck, yanking it to an impossible angle to immobilize it and shock the owner, while simultaneously punching Peter in the face. Without hesitation he uses his leg to pull Peter’s feet out from under him. It shows him moving, fast and fluid as water, to brace one leg against the older man’s hips, rendering his legs useless (if he were truly a human), and a knee to his throat. He has one hand on Peter’s right arm to keep it down and his right foot is pinning the other one at the elbow. It shows Stiles perched there for a second. Then the video is suddenly flipped to Danny’s face. He’s in a booth in the back with his new boyfriend.

“And that’s why you shouldn’t mess with Stiles.”

The video ends and the whole forest is quiet and still. Stiles grimaces and offers Derek an apologetic smirk. They can hear Danny trying not to laugh and Boyd chuckling. Scott is too busy trying to breathe to notice the evil glare Peter is sending his way. Derek looks at Stiles and fucking beams.

“That was a nice takedown.”

Stiles smirks right back.

“It was perfect, that’s what it was.”

Derek bumps their shoulders together. Camden tucks his phone back into his pocket in time for his Alpha to grab him none too gently by the neck and pull him away. Looks like she has more issues with her pack than she let on. She has a Hale pack fanboy (and really he can’t blame the kid. He needs a little normal in his life what with his sister sleeping with everyone in their pack freely). It’s hilarious. She clears her throat.

“Alpha Hale, I won’t even assume that you’d put us up for a night. We’ve imposed for long enough. If you’ll excuse us, we’ll make sure to be out of your territory before morning.”

Derek nods dismissively. Then just like that they are melting back into the shadows; dark figures darting between the trees with glowing eyes. Derek watches them silently for a few moments before turning and facing his pack.

“That could have gone a lot better.”

He’s looking directly at Stiles when he says it. Stiles just grins and shoves his hands into the pockets of his borrowed jacket.

“Could have gone a lot worse.”

He puts up with Derek’s  _I regret all my decisions_ look for a few heartbeats before grinning and tipping his head back to the path that would take them back to Hale house. He’s carefully picking his way across some boulders when Erica hops onto his back.

“Oh, come on Catwoman! Boyd is specifically built for piggy back rides.”

But even as he’s bitching he’s hauling her up a little higher and securing his hands under her knees. He really should have expected more from her than just wanting a piggyback ride. She teases him about his little fanboy and uses her werewolf strength to latch on when he tries to shake her off.  They’re just into the house when Stiles brain catches up with what the other Alpha implied. (He hasn’t had his Adderall. He’s having a few issues pinning down his thoughts and actually thinking them through alright?)

“Hey, was that why everyone was looking at me funny today? Why Coach wants me to teach the girl’s self defense class? The video?”

Danny laughs but it tapers off when he sees the confusion still on Stiles’ face.

“Seriously, Stiles?”

Allison shakes her head, and Jackson snorts. Lydia comes to stand beside Danny and places a hand on her cocked hip.

“Do you remember that I said I’d never date you?”

He feels a slight jab of pain. Gee thanks for the reminder Lydia. But he nods because his confusion is completely outweighing his emotional pain right now.

“Do you remember when you asked me if you were attractive to gay guys?”

He nods again. Lydia looks him up and down with a once over that leaves him feeling stripped bare. The look in her eye however turns something upside-down in his chest. He feels red hot inside and out. Its approval and praise and just a tad bit of attraction.

“You might have had a chance if you looked like this more often.”

He goes to defend his fashion choices (his beloved plaid!), but Danny opens his mouth.

“You’re attractive to gay guys.”

Stiles point his finger in the air waving it in Danny’s direction.

“AH HA!”

He admitted it once, but a drunken confession (after a drunken make out session that both parties never brought up again) wouldn’t be admissible in court. Danny ignores him and his outburst because he’s awesome like that.

“But this?”

He gestures at him bodily.

“I would date you so hard.”

Stiles gawks. Because Lydia would date him. And Danny would date him. And gay guys thought he was attractive. He feels his jaw slack and knows his eyes must be just as comically wide. Jackson falls out of the chair he’s sitting in because he's laughing hard (he may even be crying). Boyd is sitting there with a shit eating grin on his face. Erica pats the sofa next to her. Stiles stumbles over on autopilot. She pats at his knee affectionately.

“You are a beautiful butterfly.”

He nods sharply. His system is coming back on line rapidly after his altered world view.

“Damn straight I am.”

She oh, so graciously, shoves him off the couch with a cackle. She’s a great friend like that. Derek huffs a sigh but ignores them and keeps heading to the study with Peter hot on his heels. Stiles very much ignores the leer Peter sends his way. He knows Peter thinks he’s a beautiful butterfly. Lord knows he bad touches him enough. Stiles grumbles and picks himself off the floor. Everyone’s piling onto the couches. With the adrenaline still kicking in their systems, they are all still too amped up to sleep yet. Somehow Netflix gets pulled up and Buffy starts to play where they last left it. Stiles tries to get comfortable on the couch, but Isaac is pinning him to Jackson’s side. Stiles tries to catch Lydia’s eye, but she’s ignoring him, using Jackson, his, and Isaac’s laps as a cushion for her legs. He looks to Scott for help but all he does is crash himself into Stiles’s legs on the floor. He rubs around and shuffles to get into a comfortable position. Isaac keeps rubbing his cheek into Stiles' shoulder and arm. Even Jackson is touching him. He has an arm thrown across the back of the couch that keeps brushing against Stiles’ shoulders and neck.

“You guys are being weird.”

Erica shrugs from where she’s all cuddled up with Boyd on the couch to his right. Stiles sighs and looks down at the legs in his lap. He might have gotten over his crush on Lydia a while ago but he has eyes, and she really does have nice legs. Jackson must sense his thoughts or something because he elbows him in the ribs none too gently. Stiles elbows him back. He accidentally hits Isaac who retaliates by pinching him in the arm which results in Stiles slugging him in the shoulder. It just spirals out of control from there. There are a few complaints, mostly from Stiles as the pack writhes and wrestle on the floor.

“Dude, claws!”

“There is no need for nipple tweaking, Scott!”

He yelps almost immediately after when he feels a hand on his ass and a sharp sting.

“Or ass slapping, Erica!”

Lydia is sitting on the sofa out of the way with Boyd sitting next to her acting as referee. Meaning he pulls Erica off of whomever she’s decided to pounce on. Scott is just laughing at her antics and tickling her every chance he gets. Allison is arm wrestling with Danny while holding off Isaac. He’s hell bent on giving her a wet willy for some unknown reason. Derek finds them in a heap on the floor, coffee table pushed out of the way, and the couch they were sitting on overturned. Stiles has a leg hooked over Isaac’s hips, helping out Allison, and Jackson in a headlock. He’s finally getting the noogie he deserves. They all stop what they’re doing (Erica is perched on Scott tickling him mercilessly) to stare up at their Alpha. He huffs and steps over the overturned couch. Derek grabs Stiles by the scruff of his leather jacket and pulls him up.

“Oh, come on! Jackson started it!”

Derek continues to haul him outside. Stiles tries to pull out of his grip as they go down the back porch stairs, but the Alpha doesn’t let him go.

“Okay dude, I admit it. I put the wolfsbane in Peter’s cornflakes. I thought he’d figure it out before he ate them alright?!”

Derek doesn’t even heave a sigh. He just keeps dragging Stiles away from the house into the small clearing a few yards beyond the backyard. And Stiles, Stiles just snaps. He’s had a shitty day. The last thing he wants is to go through this with Derek. So he twists Derek’s wrist. The pain surprises him enough to let him go. His shock is replaced with a scowl and dark eyes.

“You do not want to test me right now, Stiles.”

He glares at him.

“Oh, I think I do.”

Derek tries to reach for him but Stiles blocks his hand. He reaches out again grabbing at his jacket. Stiles rotates his arm, slams his elbows down on Derek’s forearms, and pulls them all the way through the motion, essentially flipping Derek to the ground. He uses his weight to keep him there. Derek doesn’t try to throw him off because he is too surprised by Stiles actually taking him down. But he means business and Derek understands that too.

“I had a shitty day, Derek. An extremely shitty day. I got three hours of sleep, had to pull vicious little teeth from your arms while you were in serious pain, and had to break into the library, kinda.”

He ignores Derek’s eyebrow lift.

“I got my coffee spilt all over me because your creepy ass uncle wanted to scare us. On top of ruining my hit of the glorious life bearing elixir, he decided to play naughty touch. I had to toss my favorite flannel out because he got all wolfy on it. Then, then I got to school and got Carried. Thank god Danny had an extra pair of jeans in his locker, and Scott found me those boots. But I had to throw away my Adidas man. My Adidas. My mom bought those for me. Then I had to deal with Finstock spitting at me for 20 minutes about teaching self defense classes for girls’ PE. They ran out of curly fries in the caf! And everyone kept looking at me like I was more of a freak than usual.”

He grips at Derek’s shoulders while he takes in a much needed breath.

“To top all that off I walked in on my dad hardcore making out with my best friend’s mom. My brain is trying to self destruct at the fact that I couldn’t see one of his hand and Melissa’s shirt was- ARGH- Just _no_ , not going there. And to add to this Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day we get a visit from some really over friendly werewolves because Peter is not only insane but a giant fucking idiot. I became a viral video sensation.  …oh god, my dad is going to be pissed when he sees it. Damn it. The last thing I need today is you reverting back to your old permanently scowly, physically abusive self.”

He pins him with a stare now.

“You don’t want to test  _me_  right now, Derek.”

Derek doesn’t move. He just meets the look head on and gives a sharp nod.

“I’m sorry I just, I…”

He lets the sentence trail off. Stiles tightens his grips on his shoulders again.

“No, do not do this. It took me two years and change to get you to actually talk to your pack like a normal person. Don’t go back to that Derek. Not with me alright?”

Derek closes his eyes and breathes out heavily. He tilts his head up and opens his eyes to look over the night sky above Stiles. For a second Stiles thinks Derek won’t answer him. He thinks he will slip right back into his old ways and into an emotional void.

“Just talk to me, Derek. Please.”

At first Stiles is sure that he will just shut down. He’s pushed him, nothing more than Derek has pushed Stiles before, but they’ve all had a stressful and long day. Stiles didn’t have to deal with Peter for a solid six hours of it either. He slowly starts to pull away, but Derek catches his wrists and puts his hands back where they were resting before. He’s still staring somewhere over Stiles head when he speaks.

“You don’t smell like me anymore.”

Stiles blinks at him trying to comprehend the barely audile statement. He blinks some more.

“What?”

Derek finally meets his eyes and says it again quietly.

“You don’t smell like me anymore.”

For lack of a better reaction, Stiles blinks some more. He blatantly realizes that this would be the point in time were Derek would make a joke about rendering him speechless. Derek looks so far from joking right now.

“I’m not good at this, at talking Stiles. I never was. I’m not -”

Stiles squeezes his shoulders, already backing down, ready to tell him that he doesn’t have to talk if he doesn’t want to. That’s exactly when Derek surges up and kisses him. It’s just a firm pressure of lips against lips; warm and not entirely unwelcome. Before Stiles can really register its happening Derek pulls back. His eyes are rapidly studying his face. It turns something in his stomach to see Derek look sharply away like he’s preparing for the worst. It takes Stiles two tries to actually get his voice to come out.

“What? No, I know what  _that_  was. Why? Why with me?”

When he looks back at him all Stiles is met with is a look he’s seen a thousand times before. It’s his patented  _Stiles how can you be so smart yet so stupid_  look. He can clearly see the fondness layered in that look. But now he can see something else. It’s another layer that he can only recognize as confusion like he really can’t understand why Stiles doesn’t understand.

“You are the bravest person I have ever met. Even when your heart is racing a mile a minute, even when I can smell the way fear turns your scent bitter and thin, you never give in to it. Not when it’s important. Not when one of us is in danger.”

Derek ducks his head a takes a breath. Hesitantly he reaches up and lays a palm flat over the thundering of Stiles' heart.

“You never back down when you’re right. Not from me. Never from me. You question me. You challenge me. You fight with me, and against me, and right beside me. You made me a better person, a better Alpha. You made all of us better. You still do.”

His hands are resting at his neck now. He gets bolder when Stiles doesn’t shake him off but only tilts his head to give him more room. He smoothes the pads of his fingers over Stiles’ pale skin. He lets them dance along his skittering pulse.

“You keep us together, Stiles. You’re the heart of our pack. Without you we’d drift away. Without you I would have drifted away.”

He skates his large, warm hands down his arms as he talks.

“But mostly it’s because you wear your scars like medals.”

He lays a palm against his left shoulder blade where a branch like scars looks four shades paler than his normal skin tone; a parting gift from a banshee. He feels a feather light touch against his knee where a red cap tried to slice his leg open and luckily didn’t. He tugs at Stiles’ hand. Stiles shifts his weight to let Derek have it. His fingers skim over the white line of the slightly raised scar tissue that runs diagonally across his left palm. It’s the wound he gave himself to pull one of the Alpha’s attention away from Derek. So Derek could get back up, get back on his feet, and heal enough to land the final blow. It’s the same wound that bled all over Derek, the blood mixing up with his Alpha’s, as Stiles helped him to his feet and to his pack. He had been so furious over Stiles  _mutilating_  himself to win the fight. But Stiles refused to be sorry about it, refused to apologize or feel selfish. If spilling his own blood would save him from having to witness Derek being torn apart in front of him he’d do it again and spare the pint he could give and then some. He’d do it for any one of his pack now, but he hadn’t even hesitated to do it for Derek then. His brain finally shifts into last gear. God, he was such an idiot.

“And I like the way you smell. Underneath everything you smell like, like the first snow. Bright and clean, and so sharp it almost hurts. I used to hate it. You’d clear away the smell of ash and cinde,r and I couldn’t stand it. But now, now I can’t go a day without it filling up my lungs.”

He buries his face in the crook of Stile’s neck and just inhales like a drowning man gasping for air. He stays there for a moment before laying his head back on the ground. He’s calm, face relaxed, body warm and welcoming under Stiles. He sighs out loud, eyes opening to expose vibrant evergreen, brighter than the fullest moon. It makes Stiles breath catch in his throat. Stiles’ scent gives this to Derek. This, this peace. Stiles gives Derek peace. Stiles makes him better. Stiles keeps him together. Stiles challenges him. And suddenly Stiles’ brain decides to catch him up on all the things he’s missed and ignored and refused to acknowledge. Apparently the whole avoiding the problem until it goes away things does work. Just with his jailbait feelings toward his 24-year-old Alpha.

It was easy to ignore it away because Stiles kept himself occupied. He threw himself into training, lacrosse practice, track, extra classes, tried making sense out of the bestiary and Peter’s filing system, his summer job… but now all those things are gone. He’s graduating in less than two weeks. He doesn’t have any more practices. He passed all his classes. Lydia wrangled the bestiary and Peter’s filing system into submission. He doesn’t have a job to run off to anymore. He’d given it up to spend the summer with the pack before going off to Berkeley. He doesn’t have a neon green underage sign hovering over him for much longer. He doesn’t have any excuses anymore. He doesn’t have to keep denying things into nonexistence.

“Jesus, fuck, _Derek_. You don’t trust Peter with me because he tried to turn me. You were fucking brutal in training, way more than you were with Lydia, because you were worried about me. You, the pizza, and my meds. You care about me. You trust me. You asshole. You _asshole_! You were scent marking me today! With this!”

He tugs at the collar of the jacket which is a good idea given that the other pack was coming with the hope of bumping uglies. Derek wanted to get it across that Stiles was off limits but still.

“Jackson, you made Jackson park in Harris’ spot to get back at him for being a dick to me!”

 “He did that on his own,” Derek mutters grumpily, like he’s mad he didn’t think of it himself.

Stiles tosses that thought to the back burner for later because he’s on a roll with epiphanies right now.

“And fuck, I’m attractive to gay guys! Greenberg’s gay. Well, no, no that does make sense. But hitting on me seriously?”

“ _WHAT_.”

He ignores the very angry, seething non-question Derek directs at him because - 

“You! YOU! Jealous! I’m your favorite! I totally am because you like me! You were totally checking me out! You like to watch me-and holy shit, Erica! THE FUCKING POPSICLE! You son of a-”

He turns to yell at the house.

“I  _HATE_  ALL OF YOU!”

Derek takes Stiles distraction as an opportunity to flip them over. He settles on top of him. Derek’s weight is warm and comfortable between his hips. He tries to hold onto his annoyance. He really does. He smacks at one seriously muscled shoulder. He had planned to pull his hand away but now he leaves it there and catches his fingers in the soft fabric of his shirt because he can. He’s  _allowed_. He doesn’t have to lie to himself. He can want this because it’s real, and it’s wanted back. He jabs a finger in Derek’s face.

“Peter was trying to see if you had finally got all up on me. And you kicked his ass!”

Derek goes very still over Stiles. Stiles had read all the books. He was actually the only one besides Lydia that Derek even let touch the recovered books from the Hale’s original library and Peter’s laptop. He knows what the fuck goes down with werewolves and courting and shit. Derek eventually frowns at him like a petulant child.

“He shouldn’t have tried to touch you.”

Stiles nods seriously.

“Peter shouldn’t have. But I rectified the situation. And then you decided to rectify it on your own while wrecking the dining room.”

Derek groans and rests his forehead against Stiles' sternum. He grumbles about wanting to repaint it anyway. Stiles chuckles quietly and plays with the fine hair at the nape of his neck. Derek practically melts into the touch. It’s like he was waiting for Stiles to give him some genuine acknowledgment that this is okay, that he wants this, him. Stiles would like to keep touching him, but of course his brain steers him towards Peter and his actions today.

“Seriously though, is  _that_  why everyone was looking at me funny? Not just the pack, but everyone in school? Because of the YouTube thing with Peter?”

Derek lifts his head. The self deprecating joke on Stiles’ tongue dies.

“They were looking at you because they finally saw what I always saw.”

Stiles can’t laugh at that, not with the open look on Derek’s face and the sheer honesty in his words. Instead he plays with the edge of Derek’s shirt collar. Derek is still over him. He lets Stiles touch and explore all while studying him with quiet, intense eyes. He slips his fingers under the shirt to finally touch smooth, blissfully warm skin.

“You are so fucking cheesy.”

When he shrugs Derek makes sure not to dislodge his hand. In fact, the way he moves pushes Stiles hands further under his shirt. Some part of Derek is always going to be an asshole. And it’s better because Stiles knows for a fact that he’s kind of an asshole too. Stiles beams up at him.

“So what, you were going to pounce on me at midnight on my birthday?’

The eye roll he gets is laughable.

“That was one option. But knowing the Sheriff and his accuracy with a firearm? No. The other option was like Danny said. To date you so hard.”

Stiles opens his mouth and laughs, wide and carefree. He settles down eventually under Derek’s warm weight. It grounds him in the moment and helps tie down everything that’s happened. It helps hold him together. Derek makes Stiles better just as much as Stiles makes Derek better. He smiles up at the Alpha that is waiting patiently for an answer. He’s far too happy to let his hands roam up and down Stiles’ sides while he takes everything in.

“I think I’d like that.”

Derek grins down at him. His fingers slip into the collar of Stiles’ shirt to brush at the pale skin of his collarbone.

“Yeah?”

Stiles nods watching Derek as his fingers slide against the skin exposed by the cut of the shirt. He seems to be really enjoying this new look.

“So, you’re going to miss this when I go back to wearing my plaid and layers and stuff?”

Derek shrugs again. It’s an elegant shrug. How the fuck does he manages to enact an elegant shrug. It’s just muscle and bone, blood and sinew. It shouldn’t look regal as fuck. On anyone else it wouldn’t look that way, but Stiles is probably biased. Because he’s been secretly hiding the fact that he’s in love with his Alpha for about two years now, FROM HIMSELF. And Jesus, Stiles is an idiot. His ability to deny something into near nonexistence is an idiot… or possibly a super power. Like a mutation. He should probably get it tested or something. Stiles is having trouble focusing with the way Derek’s mouth is making its way down Stiles’ neck to his collarbone with hot, open mouthed kisses that sends wet heat clouding through his cotton shirt and straight into his skin.

“You should dress like this sometimes, if you want. Show them what they’re missing.”

Teeth nip at the outline of one of his abs through his shirt (if Stiles was currently giving fucks he’d wonder how the jacket got unzipped). His eyes bleed out red just around the iris when Stiles meets his look head on.

“Let them see what’s mine.”

Stiles really should have a problem with that label. He doesn’t belong to anyone. He’s his own man but… It’s kind of nice being wanted, to be someone’s. And it feels kind of awesome because if he’s Derek’s then Derek is _his_ , and that is a completely fucking heady idea. Turns out Stiles kind of has his own possessive kink. Who would have thought? He yanks Derek back up and presses their lips together. Derek lets him guide the kiss this time. He lets Stiles take it a little deeper, a little hotter, tongue swiping against his bottom lip before diving right in. It’s all hot, wet heat, and pressure. It’s so freaking good that Stiles hates that he has to pull back to breathe. So does Derek if the dazed look on his face means anything.

“We going to take this upstairs?”

Derek freezes.

“No.”

He squirms closer to Derek and fights to urge to whine; partially because Derek’s scruff feels really nice against his collarbone, and partially because Derek’s fingers keeps caressing the hair at the back of his head.

“Derek.”

Derek pulls away enough to level him with a somber expression.

“Not until your birthday.”

He wants to fight it. He has all the arguments laid out in his head. But he can’t open his mouth and say them. Because Stiles, he knows about Kate, from the bits and pieces Derek trusted him with and what he put together himself. He knows what waiting means for Derek and what it could mean for them, their relationship. Besides, if he’s waited this long what’s another three weeks or a month or whenever Derek’s ready? He grumbles but flops back to the ground and takes a deep drag of cool, un-Derek saturated air. He keeps his grip in Derek’s jacket to keep him close. He just figured out he could have him. He’s not letting him go yet.

“We’re both idiots, you know that?”

The grin Derek gives him is almost blinding. It makes his stomach hurt in the best of ways.

“You’re the one that called me emotionally constipated.”

Stiles smacks at his shoulder, hard.

“Dude, that’s because you are.”

Derek huffs a long suffering sigh. Which Stiles is going to call shit on later because it does nothing to hide the utter fondness in his eyes. (Really, how had Stiles forcibly ignored  _that_  the past two years?)

“Don’t call me dude.”

Stiles narrows his eyes at Derek.

“Make me.”

Hazel green eyes burn away to blood red. Stiles grins up at his Alpha.  _His_  Alpha, as he leans in to devour his lips. It’s a fierce lip lock that has him panting to try to keep up with him. It's all teeth and tongue and when Derek sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and bites down it’s almost blinding it’s so good. Stiles wills himself to feel a little pissed that Derek went all Alpha wolf on his ass, but he can’t stop smiling back at Derek. He watches as he lowers himself to the side before flipping onto his back and tugging Stiles closer. They are both still grinning when they look up at the stars. Stiles breaks the quiet with a laugh.

“You know, today wasn’t so bad after all. I’m YouTube famous and bagged an Alpha werewolf boyfriend.”

Derek chuckles and dips his nose behind Stiles ear.

“Shut up Stiles.”

And Stiles actually does.

 

… at least for a little while.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a funny story about Stiles having a bad day, and it was originally 5,000 words. It just kind of snowballed into this monster. Also I have written All the Things! And by things I mean all the tropes I love and love to hate. 
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. I still have no solid intel about Derek's age so...


End file.
